77     ^t^ 


PASSACONAWAY 

IN   THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS 

BY 

CHARLES  EDWARD  BEALS,  JR. 

ILLUSTRATED  FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


BOSTON:    RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

TORONTO:    THE  COPP  CLARK  CO.,  LIMITED 


COPYRIGHT,  1916,  BY  CHARLES  EDWARD  BEALS,  JR. 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Grateful  acknowledgment  is  made  to  Houghton  Mifflin  Company  for 
generous  permission  to  quote  from  Frank  Bolles's  poem,  "Two  Sentinels," 
published  in  his  "Chocorua's  Tenants";  and  for  the  use  of  Lucy  Lar- 
com's  poem,  "Clouds  on  Whiteface,"  re-published  in  Musgrove's  "The 
White  Hills  in  Poetry";  also  to  Mr.  Stephen  Henry  Thayer  for  permis- 
sion to  reproduce  his  charming  sonnet,  "Whiteface." 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.S.A. 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  young  man  who  wrote  this  book  commenced 
his  explorations  of  Passaconaway-land  when  four 
years  old,  at  which  mature  age  he  climbed  to  the  "turn 
of  the  slide"  on  Mount  Passaconaway.  With  him  it 
was  a  case  of  "love  at  first  sight."  He  cannot  remem- 
ber when  he  did  not  love  the  White  Mountains.  And, 
with  each  succeeding  year,  that  feeling  has  deepened. 
How  the  world  looks  from  a  Beal-loved  little  moun- 
tain nest — "Score-o'-Peaks" — the  youngster  will  tell. 
If,  by  his  chapters,  he  shall  succeed  in  imparting  to 
some  weary  soul  a  tithe  of  the  pleasure  which  has  been 
experienced  by  one  family  during  nearly  a  score  of 
summers,  I  shall  think  that  it  was  indeed  a  happy  in- 
spiration which  led  me  to  suggest  to  the  lad  that  he 
record  the  things  herein  set  down. 

CHARLES  E.  DEALS. 
"Scores-Peaks^' 

Passaconaway ,  N.  H., 

The  Junior's  birthday  anniversary, 


2052097 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTHB  PAGE 

I.     PASSACONAWAY,  THE  MAN       .         .         .        .11 
II.     PASSACONAWAY'S  PAPOOSES       ....       52 

III.  WONALANCET,  THE  "PLEASANT-BREATHING"      .         60 

IV.  How    KANCAMAGUS   CROSSED   OUT   THE   AC- 

COUNT  77 

V.  PASSACONAWAY'S  PYRAMID        .        .  .  .102 

VI.  PAUGUS,  MO.UNTAIN  AND  CHIEFTAIN  .  .     115 

VII.  CHOCORUA'S  HORN  AND  LEGEND       .  .  .130 

VIII.  THE  NORTHERN  SKY-LINE        .        .  .  .157 

IX.     SUNSET  RAMPART   AND   THE   SOUTHWESTERN 

QUADRANT 173 

X.     SABBADAY'S  TRIPLE  FALL         .         .        .        .186 

XI.    THE  DEER  PONDS 193 

XII.    THE  OLD  MAST  ROAD 202 

XIII.  ALBANY    (PASSACONAWAY)    INTERVALE,    PAST 

AND  PRESENT 210 

XIV.  A  CHAPTER  OF  ADVENTURES     ....     248 

XV.     OLD  JACK,  GUIDE  AND  TRAPPER  OF  THE  WHITE 

MOUNTAINS 273 

XVI.     FORTY  BELOW  ZERO  IN  PASSACON  AW  AY-LAND  .     301 
INDEX       .        . 323 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Passaconaway  Intervale          ....          Frontispiece 

FACING 
PAGE 

Passaconaway  the  Bashaba 22 

Mounts  Passaconaway  and  Tripyramid  ....  IO2 

The  Pitcher  Fall 136 

Chocorua's  Horn 140 

Bear  Mountain      .         . 158 

Sugar  Hill  and  Mount  Huntington         .         .         .         .170 

Mount  Potash 178 

Up  Sabbaday  Brook 186 

Sabbaday's  Punch-bowl 188 

Church  Pond 194 

The  Historic  George  House 224 

Shackford's  (The  Passaconaway  House)         .         .         .  236 

Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper 290 

Ellen's  Falls   (Swift  River  Falls)         .         .         .         .306 

Forty  below  Zero 318 


PASSACONAWAY 

IN  THE   WHITE   MOUNTAINS 


PASSACONAWAY  IN  THE 
WHITE    MOUNTAINS 

CHAPTER  I 

PASSACONAWAY,    THE   MAN 

FROM  my  summer  home  in  the  White  Mountains, 
I  can  look  out  upon  a  skyline  of  over  twenty 
mountain  peaks.  Of  these,  several  bear  Indian  names, 
— Passaconaway,  Wonalancet,1  Kancamagus,  Chocorua 
and  Paugus.  I  like  to  lie  in  the  hammock  on  the  porch, 
gaze  upon  these  mighty  peaks  and  think  of  the  brave 
chiefs  of  long  ago  whose  names  they  bear.  For  these 
were  not  imaginary  Indians  whose  names  have  come 
down  to  us. 

The  first  three  named  were  famous  chiefs,  the  heads 
of  a  powerful  confederacy  of  thirteen  or  more  tribes.2 
This  federation,  with  the  exception  of  the  Five  Na- 
tions of  New  York,  was  the  most  powerful  Indian 
coalition  in  the  East.  Passaconaway  welded  this 
confederacy  together  under  the  leadership  of  his  tribe, 
the  Pennacook. 

1  Wonalancet,   though   not  visible   from   our  cottage,   may   be   seen 
from  certain  points  in  the  valley. 

2  Hubbard :  History  of  New  England,   30 ;   Osgood :  White  Moun- 
tains,  24-5;   Merrill:   History  of  Carroll   County,   N.   H.,  26. 

II 


12  Passaconaway 

Shortly  before  the  advent  of  the  Pilgrims,  a  pesti- 
lence swept  through  New  England  and  did  its  work 
so  thoroughly  that,  in  many  cases,  powerful  tribes 
dwindled  to  mere  handfuls  of  forlorn  survivors.3  In 
such  numbers  were  the  dusky  inhabitants  swept  off  that 
there  were  not  enough  left  to  bury  the  dead.4  Nine- 
tenths,  it  has  been  said,  of  the  New  England  Indians 
perished  in  this  plague.5  When  Sir  Richard  Hawkins 
revisited  the  coast  in  1615,  the  aborigines  were  strug- 
gling against  this  pestilence.  He  vividly  tells  of  seeing 
their  unburied  skeletons  bleaching  in  deserted  wigwam 
towns.6 

After  such  devastation,  new  tribal  relations  had  to 
be  formed.  Then,  too,  the  Mohawk  cloud  darkened 
the  horizon  and,  as  never  before,  became  a  source  of 
constant  terror  to  these  scattered  and  enfeebled  East- 
erners. Our  Indians  had  fought  hand  to  hand  with  the 
hated  Maguas,  and  all  too  well  knew  their  strength 
and  valor.7  Now,  scattered,  decimated,  and  leaderless, 
they  could  see  the  rising  of  the  Mohawk  storm.  They 
must  unite  and  must  have  a  leader!  A  man  of  com- 
manding personality,  of  giant  physique,  a  warrior,  a 
statesman,  a  leader  in  every  sense  of  the  word, — for 
such  a  man  did  the  hour  call.8 

8  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  Bull.  30,  Part  II,  225-6,  Handbook 
of  American  Indians;  Granite  State  Magazine,  vol.  I,  196. 

4Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  100. 

6 Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  26. 

"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Vol.  I,  100. 

7  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 

'Compare  Lyford:  History  of  Concord;  Potter,  History  of  Man- 
chester, 48. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  13 

At  this  time  the  Pennacooks,  around  Manchester 
and  Concord,  were  the  strongest  and  most  highly  de- 
veloped of  the  New  England  Indians,  and  their  tribe 
was  the  best  organized  one.9  The  man  who  had  put 
the  Pennacooks  into  the  front  rank  in  New  England 
was  Passaconaway.  He  was  the  red  man's  hope.  To 
him  the  tribes  looked  for  leadership.  In  him  all  the 
qualities  of  a  leader  of  men  seemed  to  be  combined. 
He  was  a  physical  and  intellectual  giant.  Under  his 
guidance  the  Pennacooks  secured,  by  marriage,  diplo- 
macy and  sometimes  by  war,  an  alliance  with  over  a 
dozen  tribes  in  what  is  now  New  Hampshire,  Massa- 
chusetts and  Maine.  This  alliance,  bearing  the  name 
Pennacook,  included  the  Pennacooks,  Wachusetts, 
Agawams,  Wamesits,  Pequawkets,  Pawtuckets, 
Nashuas,  Namaoskeags,  Coosaukes,  Winnepesaukes, 
Piscataquas,  Winnecowetts,  Amariscoggins,  Newiche- 
wannocks,  Sacos,  Squamscotts,  and  Saugusaukes.10 
Such  a  union  is  proof  enough  of  the  prowess  and  diplo- 
matic finesse  of  its  Bashaba,  the  mighty  Passaconaway 
of  the  Pennacooks. 

Before  beginning  the  life-story  of  this  head  chieftain, 
who  was  probably  the  greatest  New  England  Indian 
of  whom  we  have  any  record,  let  us  return  to  the 
threatening  Mohawk  storm.  The  savage  onslaught 
broke  with  the  fury  of  a  hurricane  just  before  the  form- 
ing of  Passaconaway' s  confederacy,  some  years  (some 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  48;  Flagg:  Handbook  of  American 
Indians,  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology  Bulletin  No.  30,  Part  II, 
225-6;  Osgood:  White  Mountains,  24. 


14  Passaconaway 

say  twenty)  before  the  landing  of  the  Pilgrims.  Never- 
theless, we  have  vivid  and  reliable  accounts  regard- 
ing it. 

The  Gibraltar  of  the  Pennacooks  was  a  strongly  built 
fort  on  the  crest  of  Sugar  Ball  Hill  in  what  is  now  Con- 
cord, N.  H.  According  to  their  custom,  upon  nearing 
the  enemy's  country,  the  Mohawks  separated  into  bands 
of  from  less  than  a  dozen  to  more  than  twenty  men 
each.  These  bands,  with  a  definite  time  and  meeting- 
place  clearly  agreed  upon,  would  make  their  way  as 
secretly  as  possible,  from  different  points  as  opportunity 
offered,  cruelly  murdering  and  pillaging  all  in  their 
path.11  This  time,  the  usual  plan  was  being  carried  out 
when  a  small  party  of  New  Yorkers  fell  in  with  certain 
Pennacooks  and,  after  a  skirmish,  the  former  were  put 
to  rout.  The  alarm  spread  like  wild  fire,  and,  in  an 
incredibly  short  time,  the  entire  Pennacook  tribe  either 
disappeared  in  the  forests  or,  gathering  their  corn, 
flocked  to  the  Concord  fort. 

The  repulse  of  the  Mohawk  skirmishers  only  spurred 
them  on  to  redoubled  efforts.  No  time  was  lost  in 
meeting  at  the  fort,  but,  on  seeing  it,  the  invaders  real- 
ized the  uselessness  of  trying  to  take  it  by  storm.  For 
a. while  the  two  foes  eyed  each  other  like  two  leashed 
bull  dogs.  The  Pennacooks,  well  supplied  with  corn 
and  knowing  that  they  could  not  match  the  foe  in  open 
battle,  were  content  to  await  the  next  move.  Not  so 
with  their  foes,  who  chafed  and  fumed  at  the  delay. 

Many  tricks  and  ruses  of  Indian  cunning  were  dis- 
cussed, for,  if  the  fort  was  to  fall,  it  must  be  by  strategy. 

11  See  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  15 

After  one  or  two  feints,  which  failed  to  draw  the  Pen- 
nacooks  out  of  their  stronghold,  the  Mohawks  drew 
off  in  disgust.  Next  morning  a  lone  Mohawk  was  seen 
leisurely  crossing  the  plain  at  the  base  of  the  bluff, 
almost  under  the  Pennacooks'  very  noses.  The  huge 
log  gate  opened  a  trifle  and  a  young  brave  slipped  out, 
then  another,  a  third  and  so  on,  until  over  a  score  were 
pursuing  the  prey.  The  Mohawk  ran  like  a  fox  for 
the  wood-fringed  river  with  the  long  line  of  whooping 
warriors  in  his  wake. 

In  the  excitement  the  New  Yorkers,  leaving  a  few 
warriors  to  protect  the  decoy  and  ambush  the  pur- 
suing youths,  moved  through  the  woods,  crossed  the 
Merrimac  above  the  fort  and,  under  cover  of  scrub 
trees  and  bushes,  managed  to  draw  near  the  fort, 
unseen.  After  the  last  pursuer  had  disappeared,  they 
broke  from  cover  with  a  blood-curdling  yell  and  rushed 
upon  the  poorly-defended  fort.  The  fight  was  bitter. 
Because  of  numbers,  the  raiders  were  fast  gain- 
ing the  upper  hand,  when  the  pursuers,  perceiving 
the  ruse,  returned  and  fell  upon  the  foe.  Numerical 
superiority  now  rested  with  the  Pennacooks.  Tradi- 
tion tells  us  that  both  sides  were  almost  literally  cut  to 
pieces  before  the  few  remaining  Mohawks,  baffled  and 
wounded,  finally  took  to  the  woods,  leaving  their  dead 
and  dying  in  the  hands  of  the  victors.12 

The  future  Bashaba  must  have  been  terrible  in  this 
fight,  for  he  himself  stated  that  from  his  wigwam  pole 
the  most  Mohawk  scalps  hung.  After  this  memorable 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord;  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is, 
158-9. 


1 6  Passaconaway 

and  last  battle  with  the  Mohawks,  Passaconaway's  peo- 
ple held  them  in  mortal  fear  and  would  endure  almost 
anything  rather  than  risk  another  such  conflict.  Of  the 
Mohawks  one  says:  "When  they  first  encountered 
white  men  in  1609  their  name  had  become  a  terror  in 
New  England,  insomuch  that  as  soon  as  a  single  Mo- 
hawk was  caught  sight  of  by  the  Indians  of  that  country, 
they  would  raise  the  cry  from  hill  to  hill,  'A  Mohawk ! 
a  Mohawk!'  and  forthwith  would  flee  like  sheep  before 
wolves,  never  dreaming  of  resistance."  13 

Let  us  for  a  moment  glance  at  some  of  the  interesting 
customs  and  occupations  of  the  Pennacooks,  for  we 
shall  be  better  able  to  visualize  these  early  New  Eng- 
landers  in  their  sorrows  and  joys  if  some  of  their 
methods  of  life  are  understood.  Pennacook,  now  Con- 
cord, meaning  "at  the  bottom  of  the  hill,"  14  was  the 
rendezvous  of  all  the  Indians  of  that  name.13  On  what 
is  now  Sewall's  Island  the  royal  residence  was  raised.16 
It  will  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  red  man  is  nomadic  and 
makes  frequent  moves.  In  summer  the  squaws  move 
the  frail  wigwam  from  one  field  to  another,  and  from 
one  part  of  a  field  to  another,  in  order  to  escape  the 
fleas,17  which  the  Indians  dubbed  "poppek"  on  account 
of  their  celerity  of  movement.  But,  usually,  the  royal 
residence  was  pitched  in  about  the  same  place.  Passa- 

"  Fiske:  The  Discovery  of  America,  vol.  I,  55  ;  quoting  Cadwallader 
Golden:  History  of  the  Five  Nations,  New  York,  1727. 

"Handbook  of  American  Indians,  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology 
Bull.  30,  Part  II,  225. 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  56;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  47. 


Passaconaivay,  the  Man  17 

conaway  had  other  headquarters  on  an  island  about  a 
mile  north  of  the  junction  of  the  Souhegan  and  Merri- 
mac  rivers.18  An  island  was  a  desirable  site,  because 
the  breezes,  playing  over  it,  would  sweep  away  the  pes- 
tiferous little  midges,  or  uno-see-ums"  as  the  natives 
termed  them,  because  of  their  invisibility.19  These 
islands  which  we  have  named,  besides  being  far  famed 
as  the  seats  of  authority  and  scenes  of  royal  feasts 
and  council-fires,  were  also  noted  as  the  places  where 
the  Bashaba  performed  his  feats  of  magic,  for  Passa- 
conaway  was  not  only  the  most  powerful  war-chief  in 
this  part  of  the  world,  but  also  the  most  famous  pow- 
wow, or  medicine-man,  likewise. 

The  Pennacooks  raised  corn,  melons,  squashes, 
gourds,  pumpkins,  and  beans.  They  also  dug  for 
groundnuts  and  gathered  acorns,  chestnuts  and  walnuts. 
To  the  early  settlers  they  gave  this  rule :  "Begin  to 
plant  when  the  oak  leaf  becomes  as  large  as  a  mouse's 
ear."  20  These  people  regarded  the  crow  as  being  al- 
most as  sacred  as  the  sun  itself.  One  of  their  legends 
relates  how  the  Great  Manit  sent  a  crow  from  his 
"Kantantowit's  field" — the  great  Southwest — with  the 
first  bean  and  the  first  kernel  of  corn,  which  he  depos- 
ited in  New  England.  From  these  all  their  bean  and 
corn  crops  sprang.21  How  many  of  us,  while  eating 
Indian  corn,  watermelon,  pumpkin  or  squash,  realize 
that  for  centuries  before  the  white  man's  advent, 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  56. 

"Thoreau:  Maine  Woods. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  38-40;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  40. 


1 8  Passaconaway 

the  dusky  aborigines  were  waxing  fat  and  strong  on 
these  vegetables  raised  in  the  Saco  Valley,  Winnepe- 
saukee  and  other  regions?  They  cultivated  several  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  gourds,  many  species  of  which  are  now 
rare  and  some  probably  extinct,  but  all  were  known 
as  Askutasquash.  We — with  the  English  habit  of  clip- 
ping words — retain  only  the  last  syllable,  and  call  a 
now  common  gourd  a  "squash."  Sometimes  these 
Merrimac  Indians  steamed  or  boiled  their  gourds;  at 
other  times,  especially  on  trips  when  a  fire  might  be 
dangerous,  they  ate  them  raw.22 

According  to  Judge  Chandler  E.  Potter,  who  gave 
this  subject  careful  and  exhaustive  research,  the  occu- 
pations of  the  Pennacooks  ranked  thus:  First  and  fore- 
most, farming;  second,  hunting  and  fishing;  third  and 
last,  the  fashioning  of  tools  necessary  for  the  carrying 
on  of  these  occupations.  Naturally  the  Pennacook  was 
a  husbandman  and  not  a  "knight  of  the  sword."  War 
was  not  a  profession.  It  was  indulged  in  only  as 
necessity  demanded,  which  was  seldom,  with  this  peace- 
loving  tribe. 

Then  came  the  Englishman,  with  his  drum,  bayonet, 
red  coat  and  bearskin  cap — an  imposing  figure  in  the 
savage  eye.  Judge  Potter  claims  that  from  the  time 
of  the  advent  of  the  English,  the  red  man  became  a 
martial  man.  He  shifted  the  farm  work  off  upon  his 
squaw,  who  already  had  the  drudgery  of  the  wigwam. 
However,  when  a  field  was  to  be  cleared  for  planting, 
the  entire  tribe,  braves  included,  turned  to  and  the  field 
was  rapidly  cleared.  But  this  seems  to  have  been  the 

22  See  Potter :  History  of  Manchester,  41. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  19 

extent  of  the  male  Pennacook's  agricultural  exertions, 
from  now  on.23  Men  were  kept,  by  the  English,  stand- 
ing around,  doing  no  work;  why  should  not  the  dusky 
warriors  do  likewise?  Were  the  Indians  not  just  as 
powerful,  just  as  terrible  and  just  as  fearless  in  battle 
as  the  red-coated  "braves"  of  the  whites?  So,  from  the 
industrious  and  hard-working  farmers,  they  changed 
into  mere  idlers,  and  this  new  custom  became  the  bane 
of  their  race.24  It  is  claimed  by  Belknap  that  these 
Indians  were  not  murderous  and  treacherous  until  the 
white  man  taught  them  these  lessons.25 

Canoe-making  was  an  art  in  which  the  Indians  ex- 
celled. Under  favorable  conditions  two  men  could 
make  a  good  birch-bark  one  in  a  day.26 

Under  normal  conditions  an  athletic  brave  could 
shoot  an  arrow  entirely  through  the  body  of  a  moose 
or  bear  so  that  with  spent  force  it  would  fall  to  earth 
many  yards  the  other  side  of  the  victim.27  We  find 
Passaconaway  boasting  of  being  the  most  powerful 
bowman  of  his  tribe.  A  favorite  hunting  ground  of 
the  Indians  seems  to  have  been  the  White  Mountain 
region.  By  means  of  a  trap  known  as  the  "kulheag" 
they  caught  the  bear,  beaver,  wildcat  and  sable.28  The 
dusky  hunters  in  "the  forest  primeval"  29  seemed  to 
possess  the  animal  instincts  intensified,  and  they  de- 

23 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  38-46. 

"The  same,   38. 

25  See  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  n. 

28  Granite  Monthly,  vol.  XV,  186. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  42. 

*"The  same,  43. 

29 Longfellow:  Evangeline. 


2O  Passaconaway 

lighted  at  beating  the  animals  "at  their  own  game," 
such  as  outwitting  a  fox,  outwrestling  a  bear,  etc. 

On  the  Merrimac  the  Indians  had  two  "fishing- 
places,"  Pawtucket  (Lowell)  and  Namaoskeag  (Man- 
chester).30 Their  third  was  at  the  outlet  of  Lake 
Winnepesaukee,  where  dams  were  constructed  at 
Ahquedaukenash  (meaning  "dams"  or  "stopping- 
places").  From  the  fact  that  when  the  English  dis- 
covered this  last  place  they  found  several  of  these  per- 
manent dams,  or  wiers,  they  named  it  the  "Wiers," 
and  to-day  it  bears  this  name.31  (But  Weare,  N.  H., 
was  named  for  Meshach  Weare.  See  Little's  "History 
of  Weare,  N.  H.")  Vast  quantities  of  shad  were 
caught  at  the  Wiers,32  while  on  the  Merrimac,  besides 
shad,  thousands  of  salmon,  alewives,  and  lamprey-eels 
were  secured.33  So  many  fish  were  taken  that,  by 
drying  and  smoking  them,  the  tribes  were  able  to  lay 
in  a  supply  for  the  entire  winter. 

Once  a  year  all  the  Pennacook  people  congregated 
at  these  fishing-places  and  observed  a  festival  or  series 
of  holidays.  At  these  times  lovers'  vows  were  plighted, 
marriages  performed,  and  speeches  made.34  At  the 
official  council,  with  every  sachem  and  warrior  present, 
the  affairs  of  the  nation  were  discussed  in  true  "town- 
meeting"  style,  long  before  the  advent  of  the  now 
world-renowned  New  England  town-meeting.  Every 

30 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  32. 
n  Same. 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 
"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  32-3. 
*  Same. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  21 

one  could  voice  his  opinion  freely,  and,  in  the  presence 
of  all,  the  policy  for  the  coming  year  was  outlined.35 
All  intertribal  disputes  were  peaceably  and  reasonably 
arbitrated,  and,  under  Passaconaway's  leadership,  the 
confederacy  constantly  grew  stronger  and  more  and 
more  harmonious.  If  war  was  deemed  necessary,  the 
recruits  were  mustered  in  and  war-dances  held  at  these 
fishing-places.36  Here,  too,  the  Bashaba  proved  to  all, 
through  feats  of  magic,  his  intimacy  with  the  Great 
Spirit,  Manitou  the  Mighty.37 

With  the  Pennacooks,  the  favorite  place  of  assem- 
bly seems  to  have  been  Amoskeag  Falls.  Passacon- 
away for  many  years  had  his  royal  residence  upon  the 
hill  on  the  east  side  of  the  Merrimac,  where  Governor 
Smyth  later  built  his  mansion.38  Eliot  repeatedly  vis- 
ited the  Pennacooks  at  this  place,  because  here  he 
found  great  numbers  gathered  together  well  disposed 
to  listen  to  his  preaching.  It  is  highly  probable  that 
here,  at  Amoskeag  Falls,  was  the  fishing-place  the 
Apostle  refers  to  when  he  writes  of  Passaconaway's 
acceptance  of  Christianity.39 

Another  custom  among  these  people  was  this :  When 
prisoners,  especially  Indians,  were  captured,  they  were 
led  to  the  fishing-place.  Then,  if  one  of  their  own 
warriors  had  fallen,  the  wife  or  mother  of  the  de- 
ceased might  choose  one  of  the  prisoners;  the  fate  of 

88  Compare   Janney :  Life  of  Wra.   Penn,   234. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  34-5,  50-2. 

ar  Longfellow :  Hiawatha. 

83  Granite  Monthly,  vol.  I,  26-7. 

** Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  34-5;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


22  Pas  sac  on  aw  ay 

this  one  was  in  her  hands;  she  could  order  him  killed 
or  adopt  him  in  place  of  the  lost  one.  The  captive  was 
usually  spared  and  adopted.  The  remainder  of  the 
prisoners  were  either  held  for  ransom  or  slain.  Al- 
though unusually  free  from  wars,  yet  even  when  em- 
broiled in  one,  the  Pennacooks  were  exceptionally  mer- 
ciful towards  their  prisoners,  rarely  torturing  or  kill- 
ing them.40 

On  state  occasions  a  sort  of  cap  or  coronet  was  worn, 
such  as  may  be  seen  on  Passaconaway  in  his  picture 
in  this  book.  In  war  times,  eagle  or  hawk  feath- 
ers, or  sometimes  a  long  head-dress,  adorned  the 
sachem's  head.  In  preparation  for  battle  the  war- 
riors daubed  their  faces  with  red  and  black  paint  for 
the  purpose  of  striking  terror  into  their  foes.  Upon 
their  breasts  the  head  and  sometimes  the  body  of  a 
black  bear  was  painted.  This  was  the  Pennacook 
totem,  or  coat-of-arms.  The  tribal  totem,  painted 
upon  the  breast  of  all  warriors,  served  as  a  means  of 
identification,  just  as  "civilized"  nations  use  flags  and 
uniforms.41 

At  one  time  during  Passaconaway's  reign  his  tribe 
numbered  over  three  thousand  and,  should  necessity 
require,  he  could  throw  an  army  of  skilful  and  cunning 
veterans  numbering  over  five  hundred  men  into  the 
field.42  This  army,  using  the  Indian  mode  of  warfare, 
was  a  powerful  machine,  whose  stealthy  ambush  and 
unlimited  endurance  were  not  to  be  despised.  Had  the 

40 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  52. 

"The  same,   50. 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


PASSACONAWAY,  THE  BASHABA 

(From  Potter's  History  of  Manchester) 


Passaconaway,  the  .Man  23 

Bashaba  joined  his  force  with  King  Philip's  inferior 
band,  historians  probably  would  have  chronicled  a 
different  story  from  that  of  the  defeat  and  ignoble 
death  of  the  latter.43  Time  and  again  we  have  illus- 
trations of  the  damage  inflicted  by  a  score  or  two  of 
Indians  upon  vastly  superior  numbers  of  whites  by 
ambuscade  and  agility. 

Let  us  now  glance  at  Passaconaway  himself,  the  man 
who  welded  into  unity  and  held  with  an  iron  hand  his 
great  confederacy.  The  chief  reason  why  his  life- 
story  is  not  more  widely  known  among  us  to-day  is  be- 
cause he  was  a  friend  of  the  whites  and  not  a  destroyer 
of  them.  Peaceful  Indians  seem  to  be  overlooked  by 
the  historians.  Whole  volumes  are  written  about 
Philip,  Osceola,  Sitting  Bull,  and  other  Indians  who 
have  brought  disaster  to  the  whites.  But  friendly  In- 
dians like  Massasoit,  Tahanto  and  Passaconaway — 
real  helpers  and  staunch  friends  of  the  whites — are 
ungratefully  forgotten. 

Passaconaway,  the  "son  of  the  Bear,"  was  the  first 
"Teddy  Bear"  of  whom  we  have  any  historical  account 
in  America.  There  is  reason  to  believe  that  he  was 
born  between  1555  and  1573.  In  accordance  with 
Indian  custom,  upon  his  reaching  maturity  he  was 
given  a  name  chosen  because  of  his  most  pronounced 
characteristics.  Thus,  in  order  to  have  received  the 
name  "Papisseconewa"  (as  his  name  was  spelled  in 
early  colonial  days) ,  which  is  derived  from  Papoeis — a 
child — and  Kunnaway — bear — he  must  have  been  a 

43 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  65. 


24  Passaconaway 

powerful,  fierce  and  gigantic  youth.44  He  is  seen  in 
the  picture  wearing  a  bear's  head  and  skin,  as  part  of 
his  royal  insignia.  Passaconaway,  because  of  his  un- 
usual powers,  physical,  magical,  social  and  intellectual, 
was  given  a  title  which  few  have  held — Bashaba.  A 
Bashaba  is  head  and  shoulders  above  sagamore, 
sachem  or  chief,  and  corresponds  to  Emperor  in  our 
language.45 

The  first  thing  that  we  actually  know  concerning 
Passaconaway's  relations  to  the  English  was  his  pres- 
ence at  Plymouth  in  1620,  when  the  Pilgrims  came  in 
the  Mayflower.  The  whites  were  totally  ignorant  of 
his  presence,  yet  he  himself  later  tells  us  that  he 
was  there.  He  was  in  his  prime  at  this  time  and 
was  the  most  noted  powwow,  or  sorcerer,  on  record.46 

Passaconaway,  with  several  other  medicine-men, 
was  summoned  to  Plymouth  to  conjure  against 
the  English.  For  three  days,  in  a  dark  swamp, 
these  magicians  attempted  to  call  down  lightning  to 
burn  the  ships,  and  they  sought  to  bring  plague  and 
pestilence  upon  the  new-comers,  but  all  in  vain.  The 
ships  would  neither  catch  fire  nor  spring  a  leak.  Evi- 
dently the  Great  Spirit  could  not  or  would  not  strike 
dead  the  interlopers.47  Passaconaway,  probably  the 
recognized  leader  in  this  powwow,  tells  us  that  the 
Great  Spirit  whispered  to  him  then,  "Peace,  peace  with 
the  whites.  You  and  your  people  are  powerless  against 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  54. 

43  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  vol.  Ill,  21-22. 

48  Compare  Hubbard,  in  Drake:  Indians  of  N7orth  America,  278. 

"Mather:  Magnalia,  vol.  I,  55. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  25 

them."  Here  at  Plymouth  the  Bashaba  learned  a 
lesson  which  he  never  forgot — that  the  white  man's 
god  was  stronger  than  his  own.48  "I  made  war  upon 
them,  my  young  men  were  struck  down  before  me, 
when  no  one  was  near  them."  Sadly  he  returned  to 
Pennacook,  realizing  that  he  could  neither  destroy  the 
invaders  by  sorcery,  nor  with  his  braves  successfully 
contend  against  their  miraculous  fire  and  thunder. 
Because  of  the  realization  of  the  superiority  of  the 
English,  Passaconaway,  instead  of  combating  them, 
decided  to  treat  them  kindly.49 

Christopher  Levett,  when  in  the  neighborhood,  while 
exploring  the  coast  in  1623,  reports  seeing  a  gigantic 
Indian,  reverenced  by  all — white  and  red  men  alike — 
who  called  himself  "Conway."  There  is  little  doubt 
that  this  was  Passaconaway.50  The  same  year  the 
chieftain  paid  a  visit  to  a  plantation  on  which  the  Eng- 
lish had  settled,  which  act  Passaconaway  considered  an 
encroachment  upon  his  domains.  From  these  fron- 
tiersmen the  report  came  that  the  chief  was  about 
sixty  years  old.  His  confederacy  at  this  time  was  at 
its  zenith. 

Although  a  strong  and  commanding  personality,  the 
Bashaba  possessed  moderation,  keen  insight  and  sagac- 
ity.51 These  qualities,  with  his  genius  for  swaying 
a  crowd,  and  his  almost  superhuman  feats  of  necro- 

"Hubbard's  Gen.  Hist  of  New  England;   Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  and 
Series,  vol.  V;  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  101-2. 
48  See  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  101-2. 
*° Potter:   Hist,  of  Manchester,   54. 
51  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 


26  Passaconaway 

mancy,  made  Passaconaway  the  most  influential  sachem 
in  New  England,  and  probably  the  greatest  red  man 
in  the  East.  Passaconaway  was  the  equal  of  any  of 
his  white  contemporaries.52 

Very  early  he  realized  the  effect  of  his  magical  pow- 
ers upon  the  multitudes  and  is  reported  as  having  per- 
formed extraordinary  feats  "to  the  wonderment  and 
awe"  of  his  superstitious  subjects.  From  Englishmen 
who  mingled  with  the  Pennacooks  and  who  were  wit- 
nesses of  several  of  his  sleight-of-hand  tricks,  we  learn 
that  the  powwow  swam  across  the  Merrimac  under 
water  at  a  place  where  it  was  far  too  wide  to  cross  in 
one  breath.  It  was  explained  that,  after  entering  the 
water  on  the  farther  side,  a  mist  was  cast  before  the 
spectators'  eyes  and  he  was  not  again  seen  until  he 
stepped  out  upon  the  bank  in  front  of  the  wondering 
beholders.53 

Another  time  we  are  told  that  Passaconaway  placed 
a  bowl  of  water  before  him.  The  usual  incantation 
then  followed,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  black  cloud  hov- 
ered over  the  assembled  company  and  suddenly  a  sharp 
clap  of  thunder  rent  the  air.  To  the  amazement  of 
the  spectators,  a  solid  piece  of  ice  floated  in  the  bowl ; 
this  trick  was  performed  in  the  middle  of  summer. 
Settlers,  reporting  it,  added:  "Which  doubtless  was 
done  by  the  agility  of  Satan,  his  consort."  54 

"Wood,  in  his  'New  England's  Prospect,'  says:  'The 

"Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  27. 
"Morton:  New  England   Canaan,   150-1. 

"Morton:  New  England  Canaan,  25-6;  Force:  Historical  Tracts, 
vol.  II;  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  55. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  27 

Indians  report  of  one  Passaco'nawaw,  that  hee  can 
make  water  burne,  the  rocks  move,  the  trees  dance, 
metamorphise  himself  into  a  flaming  man.  Hee  will 
do  more;  for  in  winter,  when  there  are  no  green  leaves 
to  be  got,  hee  will  burne  an  old  one  to  ashes  and  put- 
ting these  into  water,  produce  a  new  green  leaf,  which 
you  shall  not  only  see  but  substantially  handle  and 
carrie  away;  and  make  a  dead  snake's  skin  a  living 
snake,  both  to  be  seen,  felt,  and  heard.  This  I  write 
but  on  the  report  of  the  Indians,  who  confidentially 
affirm  stranger  things.'  "  55  The  Bashaba  could  hold 
a  living,  venomous  snake  in  his  hand  as  if  it  were  a 
worm.56  From  so  many  sources  are  these  feats  re- 
ported that  there  is  little  doubt  as  to  their  having  taken 
place.57 

Like  the  prophets  of  old,  this  heathen  Bashaba  was 
whole  generations  ahead  of  his  people.  Long  before 
his  brethren,  he  perceived  the  general  superiority  of 
the  Anglo-Saxons  over  the  Indians.58  The  Great  Spirit, 
as  he  relates,  had  whispered  to  him  that  although  the 
palefaces  were  now  only  few  in  number,  they  were  to 
be  as  numerous  as  the  leaves  of  the  forest;  that  the 
red  man's  hunting-ground  was  to  be  stripped  of  its 
timber  and  furrowed  with  the  white  man's  plow;  and 
that  the  rivers  and  fishing-places  were  to  be  choked 
with  dams  and  whirring  mills.  All  this,  with  his  states- 

"Bouton:  History  of  Concord,  20. 

88  Same  in  Bouton;  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  101. 
"  See  Wood,   Morton,   Hubbard   and   later  historians. 
"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,   56;   Belknap:  Hist,  of  New   Hamp- 
shire, vol.   I,   101-2. 


28  Passaconaway 

manlike  vision,  he  foresaw,  and  to-day  we  are  able  to 
judge  of  the  accuracy  of  his  foresight. 

But  he  did  not  give  up  without  an  effort;  not  by 
wasting  his  young  men  before  the  white  man's  fire  and 
thunder,  however,  but  by  the  "supernatural"  powers 
in  his  possession,  did  he  make  this  struggle.  A  brave 
man  was  Passaconaway,  yet,  like  Chocorua  and  many 
other  warriors  of  this  region,  the  thunder  of  the  white 
man's  "iron  pipe"  and  the  flash  sent  a  shiver  through 
his  frame.  Not  the  "crack"  of  the  gun,  but  what  it 
symbolized,  caused  this  terror.  To  the  superstitious 
aborigines  the  mere  flash  and  report  were  compara- 
tively nothing,  but  every  musket-shot  gave  positive 
proof  that  the  whites'  god  was  omnipotent  and 
destructive;  that  each  and  every  white  could,  through 
his  "iron  pipe,"  summon  the  aid  of  his  deity,  which 
god  would  sweep  down  the  Indians  before  him,  no  mat- 
ter how  far  distant  they  might  be.59  Years  later,  when 
traders  had  sold  them  rifles,  powder  and  bullets,  this 
erroneous  idea  was  corrected.  But  at  this  period  it 
seems  to  have  been  almost  universal.  So  we  find  Pas- 
saconaway fighting  them  with  "medicine,"  not,  like 
Philip,  with  knife  and  tomahawk.  This  recognition  of 
the  superiority  of  the  whites'  divine  ally  seems  to  have 
been  the  reason  for  Passaconaway's  policy  of  "Peace 
with  the  English." 

To  the  early  colonists  themselves,  it  seemed  most 
providential  that  the  Almighty  had  led  so  powerful  a 
chieftain  to  adopt  a  policy  of  peace  and  to  restrain 
his  bands  of  forest  soldiers,  even  when  smarting  under 

"Compare  Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mountain  History,  272-6. 


Passaconaivay,  the  Man  29 

wrongs  and  injustice  from  those  whom  he  befriended.60 
Historians  agree  that  a  word  from  Passaconaway,  or, 
later,  from  Wonalancet,  would  have  swept  our  fore- 
fathers into  the  sea.  The  settlements  of  Strawberry 
Bank  (Portsmouth),  Newburyport  and  Saugus  (Lynn) 
were  not  equal  to  the  forces  immediately  under  the 
Pennacook's  command,  to  say  nothing  of  the  allies  he 
might  have  procured.  That  he  could  have  swept  the 
seacoast  clear  of  the  whites  is  well  within  the  bounds 
of  sober  probability.61 

Passaconaway's  peace  policy  was  one  for  which  he 
paid  dearly.  In  1631,  he  officially  demonstrated  his 
determination  to  deal  justly  with  the  English  by  de- 
livering up  a  kinsman,  a  murderer,  for  trial.  At  that 
time,  his  tribe  was  the  wealthiest  and  strongest  in 
New  England;  twenty  years  later  his  people  had  been 
reduced  from  prosperity  to  the  verge  of  starvation  and 
beggary.62  This  was  the  cost  of  a  "Peace  Apostle's" 
loyalty  to  a  principle.  So  powerful  was  Passacona- 
way's grip  upon  his  people  that  throughout  the  bloody 
Indian  wars  which  occurred  during  his  reign,  not  one 
of  his  subjects  inflicted  harm  upon  a  single  white  man, 
woman,  or  child. 

A  glaring  moral  weakness  in  a  majority  of  the 
English  settlers  was  their  inability  to  distinguish  one 
red  man  from  another.  To  them  an  Indian  was  an 
Indian;  praying  or  hostile,  an  Indian  was  a  blood- 
Totter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  65;  cited  in  Charlton:  New  Hamp- 
shire as  It  Is,  26. 

"See  Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  66. 
"The  same,  64. 


30  Passaconaway 

thirsty,  treacherous  reptile,  to  be  either  hanged,  mur- 
dered, or  sold  into  slavery.63  But  who  was  it  that 
had  changed  him  from  husbandman  to  vengeful  war- 
rior? Who  got  him  drunk  and  then  cheated  and 
swindled  him?64  By  their  own  greed,  unscrupulous- 
ness  and  rum,  the  whites  debauched  the  red  man.  On 
good  authority  it  has  been  said  that  a  trader  could 
lock  up  his  post,  full  of  valuable  articles,  and  the  next 
year  find  it  untouched,  unless  by  chance  some  white 
should  discover  it,  in  which  case  it  surely  would  be 
looted.  Again  and  again  we  shall  cite  instances  in 
which  innocent  and  peaceful  Indians  were  treated  as 
open  enemies  and  unscrupulously  murdered. 

One  of  the  earliest  of  Passaconaway's  transactions 
with  the  English  is  said  to  have  been  his  signing  of 
the  famous  Wheelwright  Deed.  By  many  this  has 
been  considered  a  forgery.  The  Rev.  N.  Bouton, 
D.  D.,  Editor  of  the  Provincial  Papers  of  New  Hamp- 
shire, writes  thus,  however:  "The  famous  Wheel- 
wright Deed,  which  has  been  pronounced  a  forgery 
by  Hon.  James  Savage,  the  distinguished  antiquarian 
of  Boston,  and  the  late  John  Farmer,  Esq.,  of  Con- 
cord, bears  date  May  17,  1629.  Hon.  Chandler  E. 
Potter,  who  has  devoted  much  attention  and  research 
to  the  subject,  maintains  the  validity  of  the  deed.  But 
whether  the  deed  be  a  forgery  or  not  it  forms  part  of 
our  history; — is  the  basis  on  which  rests  the  grant  of 
several  townships  in  the  state,  is  recognized  in  various 
ways  in  our  public  records  as  genuine.  .  .  .  The  deed 

^Belknap:    History   of   New    Hampshire,   vol.   I,    103. 
64  See  Janney:  Life  of  Wm.  Perm,  233,  235. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  31 

is  recorded  in  the  office  of  Recorder  of  Deeds,  at 
Exeter."  65 

Let  me  give  the  substance  of  this  famous  document 
in  a  few  words.  It  certifies  that  Passaconaway,  for 
certain  valuable  considerations,  sells  to  John  Wheel- 
wright and  his  associates  a  tract  of  land  extending 
from  the  then  (1629)  Massachusetts  line  thirty  miles 
into  the  country,  and  from  the  Piscataqua  to  the 
Merrimac,  reserving  the  hunting  and  fishing  rights  to 
his  people.  The  seventh  and  last  article  declares  that 
"every  township  within  the  aforesaid  limits  or  tract 
of  land  that  hereafter  shall  be  settled  shall  pay  to 
Passaconaway  our  chief  sagamore  that  now  is  and  to 
his  successors  forever,  if  lawfully  demanded,  one  coat 
of  trucking  cloth  a  year."  66  The  names  or  marks  of 
several  noted  sagamons  were  affixed  to  the  deed  as 
were  also  the  signatures  of  some  of  the  respectable 
planters  of  Saco  and  Piscataqua.  Whether  the  Wheel- 
wright Deed  is  valid  or  not,  it  affords  proof  of  the 
extent  of  the  Bashaba's  power  and  dominions.67 

Rev.  John  Wheelwright  had  been  a  preacher  at 
Braintree,  then  part  of  Boston,  and  was  a  brother  of 
Anne  Hutchinson.  For  preaching  too  searching  a 
sermon  in  Boston  on  Fast  Day,  1636,  he  was  banished. 
Making  his  way  to  Exeter,  he  took  up  his  abode  there. 
He  was  a  gentleman  of  "learning,  piety  and  zeal,"  68 

"Provincial  Papers  of  New  Hampshire,  I,  56. 

"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  55-6. 

87  Copy  of  the  deed  in  Belknap:  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  289-291; 
also  in  Provincial  Papers  of  New  Hampshire,  I,  56-9;  Potter:  History 
of  Manchester,  56;  cited  in  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  12-3. 

**  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,   35. 


32  Passaconaway 

and  it  seems  unthinkable  that  a  man  of  his  character 
would  countenance  a  forgery. 

Passaconaway's  motive  in  disposing  of  this  region 
seems  to  have  been  his  fear  of  the  Mohawks.  (The 
name  Mohawk  is  an  Algonquin  word  meaning  can- 
nibal, and  was  applied  to  the  New  Yorkers.69)  By  sell- 
ing his  land  to  the  English,  the  latter  naturally  would 
settle  in  their  newly-acquired  possessions  and  this  would 
insure  the  Pennacooks  some  measure  of  protection. 
But  Passaconaway's  idea  was  not  that  the  Indians 
should  vacate  the  lands  they  had  sold,  but  that  the 
whites  should  come  and  live  with  his  people.  In  order 
to  save  their  own  scalps,  the  white  frontiersmen  would 
be  forced  to  fight  side  by  side  with  Passaconaway's 
men  against  the  Mohawks.  Doubtless  this  was  the 
reason  for  such  a  wholesale  alienation  of  lands.  It 
seems  to  have  been  either  a  case  of  accepting  the  lesser 
of  two  evils,  or  a  misunderstanding  of  the  nature  of 
a  sale. 

As  we  have  said,  in  1631  Passaconaway  performed 
an  act  incontrovertibly  proving  to  the  English  his  sin- 
cerity and  his  desire  for  justice.  A  trader  named 
Jenkins  was  mysteriously  murdered,  while  asleep  in  an 
Indian  wigwam.  The  murderer  was  among  the  Pen- 
nacooks, and  a  summons  was  sent  to  the  Bashaba  noti- 
fying him  of  the  crime.  Immediately  Passaconaway 
ordered  the  accused  to  be  seized  and  turned  over  to 
the  proper  English  authorities  for  trial.70  He  did  this 

"Fiske:  Discovery  of  America,  vol.  I,  61,  note. 

T8Bouton:  History  of  Concord,  20;  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America, 
285;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  33 

not  with  the  idea  of  betraying  a  kinsman,  but  in  order 
that  honest  and  just  relations  might  be  established 
between  his  Indians  and  the  English. 

Realizing  their  own  treachery  towards,  and  fraudu- 
lent treatment  of,  the  Indians,  the  traders  lived  in 
constant  fear  of  retaliation.  Repeated  alarms,  based 
upon  little  or  no  foundation,  rang  through  the  province 
and  threw  the  populace  into  a  delirium  of  fear.  Eleven 
years  after  Passaconaway  had  delivered  up  the  mur- 
derer, he  had  a  chance  to  measure  the  Englishman's 
gratitude.71  A  groundless  alarm  was  spread  in  1642, 
and,  as  usual,  nearly  everybody  was  thrown  into  a 
frenzy.  Passaconaway,  who,  even  now,  in  all  proba- 
bility, could  have  swept  the  English  into  the  sea,  but 
who  had  chosen  and  was  conscientiously  trying  to  carry 
out  a  friendly  policy,  was  singled  out  as  the  victim. 
He  was  gathering  his  hordes  for  a  mighty  onslaught — 
so  went  the  rumor.  Nothing  could  be  plainer ! 

A  body  of  experienced  soldiers  was  therefore  des- 
patched to  nip  the  plan  in  its  bud  and  to  seize  the 
designing  Bashaba.72  The  orders  were  to  arrest  the 
dangerous  plotter  at  either  Ipswich,  Rowley,  or  New- 
bury,  where,  at  that  season  of  the  year,  he  was  accus- 
tomed to  reside.73  Luckily  for  him,  a  hard  storm 
arose,  which  effectually  checked  the  progress  of  the 
troops  for  three  days.  During  this  time,  Passacona- 
way, being  informed  of  their  approach,  retreated  to 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 
"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  57. 

"Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  History  and  Description  of  New  Eng- 
land, N.  H.  vol.,  402. 


34  Passaconaway 

the  wilderness  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  White 
Mountains. 

Wonalancet,  his  second  son,  was  not  so  fortunate. 
His  wigwam  was  surprised  and,  although  (some  claim) 
his  squaw  escaped,  he  was  taken.  Brutally  and  insult- 
ingly they  led  him  about  by  a  rope  until,  loosening  his 
cords,  he  sped  to  the  bushes  for  cover.  The  whites 
fired  upon  the  fugitive,  wounding  him,  and  recaptured 
him.  But  there  were  no  signs  of  the  anticipated  war 
bands !  Crowned  with  the  glory  of  an  ignominious 
triumph,  the  heroes  returned  to  Dover  with  the  victims 
of  their  prowess — one  or  two  peaceable  braves  and  a 
few  frightened  squaws.74  The  Massachusetts  Govern- 
ment well  knew  the  extent  of  the  humiliation  inflicted 
by  its  orders,  and  ought  to  have  felt  ashamed  for  hav- 
ing treated  the  Pennacooks  so  unjustly  and  so 
treacherously. 

Cutshamekin,  a  brave  taken  in  this  lamentable 
affair,  was  sent  to  Passaconaway,  bearing  an  invitation 
to  come  to  Boston  and  confer  with  the  government 
officials.75  This  was  adding  insult  to  injury,  for  the 
English  demanded  the  delivering  up  of  all  the  arms  of 
the  tribe.  Had  Passaconaway  been  forty  years 
younger,  I  fear  he  might  have  delivered  up  consid- 
erable ammunition  (in  smoke).  I  fear  his  answer 
would  not  have  been  a  few  words  of  protest  from 
injured  innocence  but  a  series  of  Deerfields  and  Sche- 
nectadys.  The  answer  which  he  returned,  however, 
shows  that,  although  beginning  to  feel  the  pains  of  old 

"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  57;  Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord. 
"Lyford:  Hist  of  Concord. 


Passaconaiuay,  the  Man  35 

age,  he  yet  retained  his  proud  and  independent  spirit. 
He  was  no  man's  dog  and  would  brook  no  insult!  He 
replied,  "Tell  the  English  when  they  restore  my  son 
and  his  squaw,  then  will  I  talk  with  them."  Potter 
adds,  "The  answer  was  that  of  a  man  who  felt  he  had 
been  most  deeply  wronged."  76  The  aged  Bashaba 
never  wholly  forgave  this  insult. 

From  now  on  he  began  to  distrust  the  sincerity  of 
the  whites  and  seems  never  fully  to  have  overcome  that 
feeling.  Five  years  later  an  opportunity  arose  for 
him  to  show,  in  a  subtle  yet  unmistakable  manner,  his 
feeling  towards  those  who  had  wronged  him.  Dur- 
ing the  spring  of  1647,  the  Apostle  Eliot  came  to  the 
Pennacooks  at  Pawtucket  to  preach  to  the  confederated 
tribes  which  annually  gathered  there.  Of  late,  the 
Bashaba's  time  had  been  devoted  to  turning  over  and 
over  in  his  mind  the  wrongs  done  him  by  the  English, 
and  evidently  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  a  religion 
tolerating  such  injustices  merited  only  contempt.  So, 
when  the  clergyman  drew  near,  Passaconaway  .took  his 
family  and  secretly  departed  for  the  wilderness.  He 
left  this  word  of  explanation  for  the  unarmed  Eliot, 
that  the  reason  he  left  was  that  he  "was  afraid  the  Eng- 
lish would  kill"  him.77  Was  rebuke  ever  more  gently 
administered? 

In  1642,  the  same  year  in  which  Wonalancet  had 
been  taken,  he  was  returned,  whereupon  the  father  de- 

78 Potter:  Hist  of  Manchester,  57;  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America, 
279;  Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord. 
"Potter:  Hist  of  Manchester,  57. 


36  Passaconaway 

livered  in  "the  required  artillery."  78  At  least  out- 
wardly, friendly  relations  thus  were  re-established  and 
all  was  harmonious  once  more. 

For  many  years  the  Provincial  Government  had 
been  endeavoring  to  secure  a  more  binding  assurance 
from  the  "great  Merrimack"  than  just  his  simple  word. 
As  a  means  of  forcing  Passaconaway  to  sign  the  arti- 
cles submitting  himself  and  people  to  the  power  and 
protection  of  the  government,  the  English  governors 
had  long  been  pursuing  a  perfidious  policy,  a  policy 
indeed  which  was  continued  long  after  this  Bashaba's 
death,  namely,  that  of  endeavoring,  with  British  gold, 
to  bribe  the  Mohawks  to  sweep  down  upon  and  destroy 
the  New  England  Indians.79  Was  this  the  protection 
offered  by  the  government?  If  so,  do  we  wonder  that 
the  Bashaba  hesitated  before  accepting  it?  Since  1631 
not  one  Englishman  had  suffered  injury  at  the  hands 
of  the  confederated  tribes,  to  Passaconaway's  knowl- 
edge, yet  his  actions  and  words  were  not  sufficient — he 
was  dangerous  because  he  had  not  yet  bowed  down 
and  paid  homage  to  the  British  King  and  flag.  Mean- 
while, however,  the  governor  of  Massachusetts  in 
person  visited  Albany,  N.  Y.,  to  buy  up  the  Mohawks 
as  a  fiery  broom  with  which  to  sweep  out  of  existence 
the  Indian  neighbors  of  the  New  Englanders.  At  last, 
in  1644,  Passaconaway,  in  behalf  of  his  confederated 
peoples,  signed  the  articles  of  submission  to  that  gov- 
ernment which,  after  seizing  his  fire-arms,  actually  had 

78Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord;  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  297. 
19  See  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  126. 


Passaconatoay,  the  Man  37 

done  its  best  to  buy  up  his  enemies  to  exterminate  him.80 
The  following  year  (1645)  his  signature  was  affixed 
to  a  treaty  signed  at  Boston,  in  which  treaty  were  also 
included  the  Narragansetts,  Niantics,  Uncas  and  his 
Mohegans,  together  with  several  northern  tribes.81 

During  the  next  few  years  Passaconaway  became 
deeply  interested  in  religion.  Already  the  incident  of 
1647  has  been  cited,  when  the  Bashaba  retreated  to 
his  protecting  woods  before  the  advent  of  the  Apostle 
Eliot,  expressing  his  fears  as  to  the  motives  of  that 
clergyman.  The  following  fishing  season,  "the  great 
Merrimack"  is  found  eagerly  listening  to  the  words  of 
the  noble  missionary.  Eliot's  work  among  the  Indians 
never  can  be  over-appreciated  by  the  whites.  Passa- 
conaway drank  in  the  message  of  life,  he  was  deeply 
touched,  and  at  length  accepted  the  new  religion  for 
himself  and  his  family,  and  urged  his  tribesmen  to  do 
the  same.82 

That  the  sagamon  was  sincere  and  that  he  never 
wavered  in  his  new  resolution  is  certain.83  Writing 
to  Captain  Willard,  shortly  after,  concerning  the  Ba- 
shaba's  conversion,  Eliot  bore  witness  that  "Passacona- 
way did  all  in  his  power  to  keep  him  at  Pennacook  and 
offered  him  any  place  for  a  dwelling  or  anything  he 
wanted  if  only  he  would  remain  and  teach  them 
more."  84  In  other  letters  Eliot  relates  how  earnestly 

80  Provincial  Papers  of  New  Hampshire,  174. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  159. 

82Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord;  Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  58. 

88  Same  in  Potter. 

"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  58. 


38  Passaconaway 

the  "great  Sachem"  implored  him  to  live  at  Pennacook. 
Among  other  arguments  the  Indian  stated  that,  as  he 
(Eliot)  met  them  only  once  every  twelve  months,  little 
good  came  of  his  teaching;  for,  no  matter  how  impres- 
sive his  word  might  be,  the  hearers  forgot  most  of  it 
before  the  year  was  out.  Potter,  in  narrating  how 
Passaconaway  illustrated  his  request  to  Eliot,  records 
the  new  convert  as  saying:  "You  do  as  if  one  should 
come  and  throw  a  fine  thing  among  us,  and  we  should 
catch  at  it  earnestly,  because  it  is  so  beautiful,  but  can- 
not look  at  it  to  see  what  is  within;  there  may  be  in 
it  something  or  nothing,  a  stock,  a  stone  or  a  precious 
treasure ;  but  if  it  be  opened  and  we  see  what  is  valuable 
therein,  then  we  think  much  of  it.  So  you  tell  us  of 
religion,  but  (although)  we  know  not  what  is  within, 
we  shall  believe  it  to  be  as  good  as  you  say  it  is."  85 

This  last  sentence  illustrates  an  Indian  standard  of 
politeness.  An  anecdote  may  be  inserted  here  to  show 
that  the  Indians  regarded  it  a  mark  of  good  breeding 
to  believe  the  words  of  another  unless  they  had  actual 
proof  to  the  contrary.  "A  Swedish  minister,  having 
assembled  the  chiefs  of  the  Susquehannah  Indians, 
made  a  sermon  to  them,  acquainting  them  with  the 
principal  historical  facts  on  which  our  religion  is 
founded:  such  as  the  fall  of  our  first  parents  by  eating 
an  apple;  the  coming  of  Christ  to  repair  the  mischief; 
his  miracles  and  sufferings,  etc. — When  he  had  finished, 
an  Indian  orator  stood  up  to  thank  him.  'What  you 
have  told  us,'  said  he,  'is  all  very  good.  It  is  indeed 
bad  to  eat  apples.  It  is  better  to  make  them  all  into 

re Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  59. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  39 

cider.  We  are  much  obliged  by  your  kindness  in  com- 
ing so  far  to  tell  us  those  things,  which  you  have  heard 
from  your  mothers.'  "  But  when,  in  his  turn,  "the 
Indian  had  told  the  missionary  one  of  the  legends  of 
his  nation,  how  they  had  been  supplied  with  maize  or 
corn,  beans,  and  tobacco,  he  treated  it  with  contempt, 
and  said,  'What  I  delivered  to  you  were  sacred  truths; 
but  what  you  told  me  is  mere  fable,  fiction  and  false- 
hood.' The  Indian  felt  indignant,  and  replied,  'My 
brother,  it  seems  your  friends  have  not  done  you  justice 
in  your  education ;  they  have  not  well  instructed  you 
in  the  rules  of  common  civility.  You  see  that  we,  who 
understand  and  practise  those  rules,  believe  all  your 
stories:  why  do  you  refuse  to  believe  ours?'  "  86 

There  is  little  heard  of  the  aged  Passaconaway  be- 
tween 1648  and  1660.  At  the  latter  date  he  was  seen 
by  Englishmen,  a  venerable,  wrinkled  old  man  of  about 
one  hundred  and  ten.  Such  longevity  is  not  unique.  In 
the  "History  of  Concord"  we  read  the  names  of  sev- 
eral Indians  who  passed  the  century  mark. 

Believing  that  his  end  probably  was  near,  in  the  fish- 
ing season  of  1660,  Passaconaway  despatched  mes- 
sengers summoning  all  the  subject  tribes  to  Pawtucket. 
An  enormous  multitude  gathered.  Daniel  Gookin,  who 
reported  the  proceedings,  was  present.87  In  spite  of 
the  characteristic  Indian  stoicism,  great  sorrow  was 
manifest  among  the  red  men.  Their  once  all-conquer- 
ing Bashaba,  now  bent  and  trembling,  was  about  to 
deliver  his  Farewell  Speech.  Especially  noticeable  was 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  42. 
"Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord. 


40  Passaconaway 

the  grief  when  the  aged  Passaconaway  arose  and,  in 
husky  tones,  yet  in  the  still  musical  remains  of  what 
once  was  the  most  powerful  and  melodious  voice  in  all 
the  confederacy,88  addressed  them  thus:  "Hearken  to 
the  words  of  your  father.  I  am  an  old  oak  that  has 
withstood  the  storms  of  more  than  an  hundred  winters. 
Leaves  and  branches  have  been  stripped  from  me  by  the 
winds  and  frosts — my  eyes  are  dim — my  limbs  totter 
— I  must  soon  fall !  But  when  young  and  sturdy,  when 
my  bow — no  young  man  of  the  Pennacooks  could  bend 
it — when  my  arrow  would  pierce  a  deer  at  an  hundred 
yards — and  I  could  bury  my  hatchet  in  a  sapling  to 
the  eye — no  wigwam  had  so  many  furs — no  pole  so 
many  scalps  as  Passaconaway's !  Then  I  delighted  in 
war.  The  whoop  of  the  Pennacooks  was  heard  upon 
the  Mohawk — and  no  voice  so  loud  as  Passaconaway's. 
The  scalps  upon  the  pole  of  my  wigwam  told  the  story 
of  Mohawk  suffering. 

"The  English  came,  they  seized  our  lands;  I  sat  me 
down  at  Pennacook.  They  followed  upon  my  foot- 
steps ;  I  made  war  upon  them,  but  they  fought  with  fire 
and  thunder;  my  young  men  were  swept  down  before 
me,  when  no  one  was  near  them.  I  tried  sorcery 
against  them,  but  they  still  increased  and  prevailed  over 
me  and  mine,  and  I  gave  place  to  them  and  retired  to 
my  beautiful  island  of  Natticook.  I  that  can  make  the 
dry  leaf  turn  green  and  live  again — I  that  can  take  the 
rattlesnake  in  my  palm  as  I  would  a  worm,  without 
harm — I  who  have  had  communion  with  the  Great 
Spirit  dreaming  and  awake — I  am  powerless  before  the 

88 Potter:   Hist,  of  Manchester,   60. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  41 

Pale  Faces. 

"The  oak  will  soon  break  before  the  whirlwind — it 
shivers  and  shakes  even  now;  soon  its  trunk  will  be 
prostrate — the  ant  and  worm  will  sport  upon  it !  Then 
think,  my  children,  of  what  I  say;  I  commune  with  the 
Great  Spirit.  He  whispers  me  now — 'Tell  your  peo- 
ple, Peace,  Peace,  is  the  only  hope  of  your  race.  I 
have  given  fire  and  thunder  to  the  pale  faces  for  wea- 
pons— I  have  made  them  plentier  than  the  leaves  of 
the  forest,  and  still  shall  they  increase !  These  mead- 
ows they  shall  turn  with  the  plow — these  forests  shall 
fall  by  the  ax — the  pale  faces  shall  live  upon  your  hunt- 
ing grounds,  and  make  their  villages  upon  your  fishing 
places!'  The  Great  Spirit  says  this,  and  it  must  be 
so  !  We  are  few  and  powerless  before  them  !  We  must 
bend  before  the  storm!  The  wind  blows  hard!  The 
old  oak  trembles !  Its  branches  are  gone !  Its  sap  is 
frozen !  It  bends !  It  falls !  Peace,  Peace,  with  the 
white  men — is  the  command  of  the  Great  Spirit — and 
the  wish — the  last  wish — of  Passaconaway."  89 

A  silence  fell  over  the  multitude  as  the  venerable 
speaker  took  his  seat — a  deathlike  silence.  The  elo- 
quence, pathos,  and  prophetic  message  of  this  speech 
were  never  forgotten  by  the  Indians  or  by  the  whites 
present.  The  Bashaba  had  struck  home.  The  coun- 
sel of  the  veteran  leader  made  such  an  impression  that 
the  Pennacooks  present  on  this  solemn  occasion  prob- 
ably never  deviated  from  the  policy  so  eloquently  advo- 
cated.90 No,  not  until  the  youths  now  present  had  be- 

89 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  60-61. 
""Belknap:  Hist,  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  102. 


42  Passaconaway 

come  aged  or  passed  away  altogether  did  Passacona- 
way's  people  attempt  retaliation  upon  those  who  were 
grievously  wronging  them. 

"The  Son  of  the  Bear,"  however,  after  delivering 
this  classic  of  Indian  oratory,  neither  died  nor  abdicated 
the  chieftainship.  We  find  him  still  holding  sway  for 
at  least  three  years  more.91 

Piece  by  piece  the  English  government  took  away  the 
aged  Pennacook's  lands — lands  he  had  reserved  for 
his  own  poverty-stricken  people.  Englishman  after 
Englishman,  armed  with  a  government  grant,  ordered 
him  from  his  own  fertile  fields  and  hunting-grounds. 
To  cap  the  climax,  the  legislature  announced  its  inten- 
tion of  issuing  grants  for  the  lands  at  Pennacook 
"whenever  so  many  should  be  present  to  settle  a  plan- 
tation there."  92  With  his  "beautiful  island  of  Natti- 
cook,"  of  which  he  had  spoken  so  fondly,  gone,  and 
Pennacook  going,  Passaconaway  began  to  see  that  not 
far  distant  was  the  day  when  he  would  not  have  enough 
soil  left  on  which  to  stand. 

Infirm  and  heart-broken,  he  at  last  bowed  his  head 
and  succumbed  to  fate.  He  must  become  a  beggar,  a 
burden  upon  charity.  He,  once  the  wealthiest,  strong- 
est, and  noblest  chieftain  in  New  England,  now  pov- 
erty-stricken!  In  just  eighteen  years  from  the  time 
he  had  submitted  to  the  provincial  government,  his 
tribe,  the  most  industrious  and  prosperous  in  New 
England,  had  become  a  paltry  group  of  miserable 

"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,   61. 
"Same. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  43 

paupers.93  Rum,  commercial  exploitation  and  English 
bayonets  had  "civilized"  them  and  here  they  stood,  a 
group  of  "Christian"  beggars. 

At  Pennacook,  in  1662,  Passaconaway  became  the 
"humble  petitioner"  to  the  "Great  and  Honred 
Court."  He  prayed  that  the  rulers  might,  in  reality, 
be  generous  enough  to  return  to  him,  out  of  his  own 
lands,  enough  to  pitch  a  wigwam  on.94  The  petition 
was  as  follows: 

"To  the  honerd  John  Endecot  Esqr  together  with 
the  rest  of  the  honerd  General  Court  now  Assembled 
in  Boston  the  petition  of  papisseconnewa  in  behalf  of 
himself  as  also  of  many  other  Indians  who  now  for 
a  longe  time  o'r  selves  o'r  progenators  seated  upon  a 
tract  of  land  called  Naticot  and  is  now  in  the  pos- 
session of  Mr.  William  Brenton  of  Rode  Hand  mar- 
chant;  and  is  confirmed  to  the  said  Mr.  Brenton  to 
him  his  heirs  and  assigns  according  to  the  Laws  of 
this  Jurisdiction,  by  reason  of  which  tracte  of  land 
beinge  taken  up  as  a  foresaid,  and  thereby  yr  pore  peti- 
tionir  with  many  oth  (ers  is)  in  an  onsetled  condition 
and  must  be  forced  in  a  short  time  to  remove  to  some 
other  place. 

"The  Humble  request  of  yr  petitionr  is  that  this 
honerd  Courte  wolde  pleas  to  grante  vnto  vs  a  parcell 
of  land  for  or  comfortable  cituation;  to  be  stated  for 
or  Injoyment;  as  also  for  the  comfort  of  oths  after 
vs;  as  also  that  this  honerd  Court  wold  pleas  to  take 

83 Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  64. 

wLyford:  Hist,  of  Concord;  Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  61. 


44  Passaconaway 

in  to  yr  serious  and  grave  consideration  the  condition 
and  also  the  requeste  of  yr  pore  Supliant  and  to  a 
poynte  two  or  three  persons  as  a  Committee  to  Ar 
(range  wi)  th  sum  one  or  two  Indians  to  vew  and 
determine  of  some  place  and  to  Lay  out  the  same,  not 
further  to  trouble  this  honerd  Assembly,  humbly  crav- 
inge  an  expected  answer  this  present  sesion  I  shall  re- 
main yr  humble  Servante 

"Wherein  yu  Shall  commande 

"PAPISSECONEWA. 
"Boston:  8:3  mo  1662."  95 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that,  just  thirty  years  before, 
he  had  determined  upon  and  delivered  up  Jenkins'  mur- 
derer in  order  that  friendly  and  peaceful  relations  with 
the  English  might  be  established.  "The  aged  Merri- 
mack's"  petition  was  granted,  and  it  is  amusing  to  note 
that,  on  the  suggestion  of  the  surveyors,  who  realized 
the  plight  of  the  redskin,  "two  small  islands  and 
a  small  patch  of  intervaile  land"  were  added  to  the 
grant96  This  show  of  generosity  on  the  part  of  the 
government  must  have  happily  surprised  him.  No 
doubt  he  was  also  surprised,  though  not  so  happily, 
when  he  was  ordered  to  pay  the  bill  for  surveying  the 
grant.97 

During  Passaconaway's  last  years  a  trading  post,  or 
trucking-house,  was  established  at  Pennacook,  near  the 

86  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  61-2,  quoting  Mass.  Archives. 
**  Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  63;  Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  Hist,  and 
Description  of  New  England,  New  Hampshire  vol.,  418-419. 
"Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  63. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  45 

Sewall  Farm,  by  Richard  Waldron  and  Peter  Coffin, 
both  of  Dover.  Tahanto,  a  lesser  sagamore,  repeat- 
edly represented  to  these  unscrupulous  traders  that 
trouble  would  result  from  the  vast  quantities  of  rum 
which  were  being  sold  to  the  Indians  for  furs.  He 
pleaded  with  them  to  turn  their  rum  upon  the  ground, 
for  it  would  make  the  Indians  "all  one  Devill."  98  The 
selling  of  fire-water  to  the  natives  was  against  the  Pro- 
vincial law." 

During  the  summer  of  1668,  some  Indians  were 
sent  from  this  trucking-house  by  the  agents,  Thomas 
Payne  and  Dickinson,  to  Waldron's  post  at  Piscataqua, 
to  procure  guns,  ammunition,  and  cloth.  Instead  of 
the  articles  ordered,  a  little  cloth  and  great  quantities 
of  liquor  were  sent.  For  a  day  and  a  half  the  Indians, 
over  a  hundred  in  number,  were  drunk  together.100 
On  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  all  left  for  their 
wigwams  except  one,  who  was  more  intoxicated  than 
the  rest  and  who  remained  in  the  building;  soon  an 
argument  arose  between  the  trader  and  this  Indian 
and  a  cry  was  heard  by  an  Indian  in  the  vicinity.  The 
latter  discovered  Dickinson  on  the  floor,  dying,  and 
later  noticed  the  intoxicated  murderer,  half  stupefied, 
reeling  off  towards  the  woods  with  a  bloody  knife  in 
his  hand.  Passaconaway  was  notified  by  the  magis- 
trate and  turned  over  the  suspect  to  the  proper  authori- 
ties. By  this  time  the  murderer  had  regained  his 
senses  and  expressed  himself  as  "sorry  for  the  poor 

"New  Hampshire  Hist.  Coll.,  vol.  III. 
"Gookin,  in  Mass.  Hist.  Coll.,  vol.  I,  151. 
100Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord. 


46  Passaconaway 

white  man  and  willing  to  die  for  the  crime."  Nor 
was  this  said  with  the  idea  that  penitence  would  save 
him,  for,  being  condemned  to  death,  in  his  last  words 
he  expressed  sorrow  for  the  victim.  This  Indian,  when 
sober,  would  have  hurt  no  one,  being  a  law-abiding 
man.  But,  inflamed  by  the  traders'  rum,  he  was 
brought  to  crime  and  death.  Says  one  historian:  "It 
is  rare  that  the  Indians  fall  out  if  sober  and  if  drunk 
they  forgive  saying,  'It  was  the  drink,  and  not  the  man, 
that  abused  them.'  "  101  As  we  have  intimated,  the 
red  man  was  condemned  to  be  shot.  Official  investi- 
gation revealed  that  Payne  and  the  murdered  man  had 
been  selling  rum  contrary  to  law;  Payne  was  fined 
thirty  pounds.  Coffin  was  fined  fifty  pounds  and  all 
charges,  while  his  partner,  Waldron,  the  "man  higher 
up" — we  shall  know  him  better  before  our  story  ends — 
escaped  scot  free.102  By  such  incidents  were  the 
latter  days  of  Passaconaway  saddened. 

Mr.  Little  says  of  Passaconaway:  "It  is  a  notorious 
fact  that  the  English  trespassed  on  his  hunting-grounds 
and  stole  his  lands.  Yet  he  never  stole  anything  from 
them.  They  killed  his  warriors, — yet  he  never  killed 
a  white  man,  woman,  or  child.  They  captured  and 
imprisoned  his  sons  and  daughters, — yet  he  never  led 
a  captive  into  the  wilderness.  Once  the  proudest  and 
most  noble  Bashaba  in  New  England,  he  passed  his 
extreme  old  age  poor,  forsaken,  and  robbed  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  him,  by  those  to  whom  he  had  been 

101  Janney's:  Life  of  William  Penn,  233,  235. 
1W  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  47 

a  firm  friend  for  nearly  half  a  century."  103 

Soon  after  the  murder  of  Dickinson,  Passaconaway 
disappeared  from  Pennacook  and  remained  away  dur- 
ing Philip's  War.  Probably  he  abdicated  the  chief- 
tainship about  1668  or  1669,  for  in  1669  Wonalancet 
was  the  recognized  chief.  After  his  abdication  he  re- 
ceived a  tiny  grant  of  land  in  Litchfield,  where  he  is 
said  to  have  resided  for  a  short  time.104  Either  here 
or  at  his  residence  at  Pawtucket,  he  was  seen  by  Daniel 
Gookin,  Superintendent  of  Indians,  and  the  Apostle 
Eliot  "in  the  white  winter  of  his  i2Oth  year."105 
These  are  the  last  authentic  data  that  have  come  down 
to  us  concerning  Passaconaway,  and  it  is  highly  prob- 
able that  he  passed  away  soon  after. 

There  are  two  interesting  legends  concerning  the 
death  of  this  "wondrous  Indian."  106  Some  Maine  In- 
dians claim  that  a  great  man,  a  man  of  wonderful  bear- 
ing, personality  and  influence,  although  very  aged,  came 
to  them  shortly  before  the  breaking  out  of  Philip's 
War.  Because  of  the  strange  likeness  of  this  man 
to  Passaconaway,  because  he  called  himself  "Bashaba," 
and  was  a  wizard  and  powwow,  some  writers  believe 
him  to  have  been  Passaconaway.107  A  devout  and 
earnest  Christian,  this  stranger  taught  and  helped  the 
people  near  the  foot  of  Mount  Agamenticus.  Because 
of  his  sterling  character,  long  and  active  life  of  use- 

ia8  Little :  History  of  Warren. 

104  Osgood :  White  Mts.,  28-9. 

105  The  same,  28. 

106  See  Drake:  New  Eng.  Legends  and  Folk  Lore,  360. 
101  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  28. 


48  Passaconaway 

fulness  and  religious  fervor,  he  was  named  "the  good 
Saint  Aspenquid." 

In  1682,  at  the  age  of  one  hundred  and  twenty, 
Saint  Aspenquid  died,  reverenced  and  beloved.  For 
miles  around  there  was  deep  sorrow  and  mourning. 
In  order  to  pay  fitting  respect  to  such  a  man,  prepa- 
rations were  made  for  the  largest  funeral  service  ever 
held  among  these  Indians,  the  grandest  one  we  have 
on  record.  Runners  flew  to  all  points  of  the  compass; 
and  nearly  all  the  Indians  on  the  Maine  coast,  and 
from  miles  inland,  came  together  at  Mount  Agamen- 
ticus  for  the  burial.  An  enormous  amount  of  game 
was  brought,  6,711  animals  constituting  the  funeral 
offering.  Of  the  animals  brought  to  the  grave  and 
funeral  feast  were  "99  black  bears,  66  moose,  25 
bucks,  67  does,  240  wolves,  82  wild-cats,  3  catamounts, 
482  foxes,  32  buffaloes,  400  otter,  620  beaver,  1500 
mink,  no  ferrets,  520  raccoons,  900  musquashes,  501 
fishers,  3  ermines,  58  porcupines,  832  martens,  59 
woodchucks,  and  112  rattlesnakes."  108  The  body  was 
borne  to  the  summit  of  Agamenticus,  and  laid  to  rest 
in  a  rocky  cave.  On  the  door  of  this  natural  tomb 
these  words  were  rudely  carved  by  the  Indians : 

"Present  useful;  absent  wanted; 
Lived  desired;  died  lamented."  109 

Let  us  now  glance  at  the  second  tradition,  which  was 
the  one  held  by  the  Pennacooks.  Dread  of  the  White 
Mountains  seems  to  have  been  imbedded  in  the  aborig- 

^Osgood:  White  Mts.,  28. 
10*The  same. 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  49 

ines.  They  hunted,  trapped,  and  marched  through  the 
numerous  valleys  and  passes,  but  seldom,  if  ever,  as- 
cended the  loftier  peaks,  especially  Mt.  Washington, 
the  monarch  of  them  all,  which  they  called  Mount 
Agiocochook.  Its  height  is  so  great  that  vegetation 
ceases  to  grow  far  below  its  craggy  summit.110  This 
"monarch  of  mountains"  U1  was  seldom  ascended  by 
the  Indians.  The  Great  Spirit,  while  on  his  earthly 
visits,  was  supposed  to  abide  on  this  summit.112  Here 
he  revealed  himself  to  his  lieutenants — his  powwows 
and  sachems — especially  to  one  favorite  who  "com- 
muned with  the  Great  Spirit  dreaming  and  awake." 

The  tradition  runs  that  there  was  to  be  a  Council 
of  the  Gods  in  heaven  and  it  was  Passaconaway's  wish 
that  he  might  be  admitted  to  the  divine  Council  Fire ; 
so  he  informed  the  Great  Spirit  of  his  desire.  A  stout 
sled  was  constructed,  and  out  of  a  flaming  cloud 
twenty-four  gigantic  wolves  appeared.  These  were 
made  fast  to  the  sled.  Wrapping  himself  in  a  bear- 
skin robe,  Passaconaway  bade  adieu  to  his  people, 
mounted  the  sled,  and,  lashing  the  wolves  to  their  ut- 
most speed,  away  he  flew.  Through  the  forests  from 
Pennacook  and  over  the  wide  ice-sheet  of  Lake  Win- 
nepesaukee  they  sped.  Reeling  and  cutting  the  wolves 
with  his  thirty-foot  lash,  the  old  Bashaba,  once  more 
in  his  element,  screamed  in  ecstatic  joy.  Down  dales, 
across  valleys,  over  hills  and  mountains  they  flew,  until, 
at  last,  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  fire,  this  "mightiest 

110 See  Starr  King:  White  Hills,  319. 

m Byron:  Manfred. 

m  Compare  Farmer  and  Moore :  Hist.  Coll.,  vol.  II,  90. 


50-  Passaconaway 

of  Pennacooks"  was  seen  speeding  over  the  rocky 
shoulders  of  Mount  Washington  itself;  gaining  the 
summit,  with  unabated  speed  he  rode  up  into  the  clouds 
and  was  lost  to  view — forever !  Fitting  finale  was  this 
to  the  life  of  a  kingly  and  prophetic  man,  and  as  well 
deserved  was  his  triumphant  translation  as  was  the 
reputed  one  of  the  prophet  Elijah. 

Some  stanzas  from  an  old  poem,  "The  Winter  Eve- 
ning," reveal  the  awe  in  which  the  great  Indian  was  held 
by  his  white  contemporaries : 

"That  Sachem  once  to  Dover  came, 

From  Pennacook,  when  eve  was  setting  in; 
With  plumes  his  locks  were  dressed,  his  eyes  shot  flame, 

He  struck  his  massy  club  with  dreadful  din, 

That  oft  had  made  the  ranks  of  battle  thin, 
Around  his  copper  neck  terrific  hung 

A  tied-together,  bear  and  catamount  skin, 
The  curious  fishbones  o'er  his  bosom  swung 
And  thrice  the  Sachem  danced  and  thrice  the  Sachem  sung. 

"Strange  man  was  he!    'Twas  said,  he  oft  pursued 

The  sable  bear,  and  slew  him  in  his  den, 
That  oft  he  howled  through  many  a  pathless  wood, 

And  many  a  tangled  wild,  and  poisonous  fen, 

That  ne'er  was  trod  by  other  mortal  men. 
The  craggy  ledge  for  rattle-snakes  he  sought, 

And  choked  them  one  by  one,  and  then 
O'ertook  the  tall  gray  moose,  as  quick  as  thought, 
And  the  mountain  cat  he  chased,  and  chasing  caught. 

"A  wondrous  wight!     For  o'er  'Siogee's  ice, 

With  brindled  wolves  all  harnessed  three  and  three, 

High  seated  on  a  sledge,  made  in  a  trice, 
On  Mount  Agiocochook,  of  hickory, 
He  lashed  and  reeled,  and  sung  right  jollily; 


Passaconaway,  the  Man  51 

And  once  upon  a  car  of  flaming  fire, 

The  dreadful  Indian  shook  with  fear  to  see 
The  king  of  Pennacook,  his  chief,  his  sire, 
Ride  flaming  up  towards  heaven,  than  any  mountain  higher."  1 

Before  bidding  adieu  to  Passaconaway  let  us  enumer- 
ate a  few  of  the  things  which  enshrine  the  chieftain's 
memory  and  perpetuate  his  name.  In  the  Edson  Cem- 
etery, Lowell,  Mass.,  there  is  a  statue,  a  memorial  to 
the  Great  Bashaba.114  In  Concord,  N.  H.,  there  is  a 
Passaconaway  club-house  on  the  Merrimac; 115  and 
there  used  to  be,  in  1853,  a  locomotive  of  the  Concord 
and  Northern  R.  R.116  bearing  the  name  of  Passacon- 
away. At  York  Cliffs,  Maine,  there  is  a  Passaconaway 
Inn.  There  is  also  Passaconaway  Cottage  in  Birch 
Intervale,'  now  Wonalancet.117  Until  it  was  burned, 
in  February,  1916,  there  was  a  Passaconaway  House 
in  our  Albany  Intervale.  Then  there  is  the  Passacon- 
away (or  Albany,  or  Swift  River)  Intervale.  And 
our  post  office,  Passaconaway,  Carroll  County,  N.  H., 
helps  to  keep  the  famous  name  before  the  public. 
Grandest  monument  of  all,  however,  is  his  mountain, 
of  which  we  shall  speak  later.  Long  may  the  noble 
Bashaba — the  noblest  of  his  vanished  race — live  in 
our  minds  and  hearts! 

118 Farmer   and  Moore:  Historical    Collections,  vol.   II,   83-92.     See 
also  Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mountain  History,  27. 
114  Granite    State   Magazine,    vol.    I,   9,    12. 
"'Lyford:  History  of  Concord,   582-3. 
118  Bouton :  History  of  Concord,  20. 
"'Rollins:  Guide  to  New  Hampshire,   132. 


CHAPTER  II 
PASSACONAWAY'S  PAPOOSES 

THERE  are  seven  of  the  Bashaba's  children  on 
record,  and  we  have  reason  to  believe  that  per- 
haps there  were  others.  He  had  at  least  four  sons. 
We  have  fairly  complete  accounts  of  the  first  two  of 
these,  Nanamocomuck  and  Wonalancet,  but  concern- 
ing the  other  two  we  know  very  little  except  their  jaw- 
breaking  names — Unanunguoset  and  Nonatomenut.1 
I  shall  speak  of  the  daughters  a  little  farther  on. 

Nanamocomuck,  the  oldest  son  of  Passaconaway, 
became  Sachem  of  the  Wachusetts  very  early,  and  held 
sway  over  their  somewhat  limited  domain  around  the 
mountain  in  Massachusetts  now  known  as  Mount 
Wachusett.  This  sachem's  oldest  son,  Kancamagus, 
was  the  last  and  most  warlike  chief  of  the  Pennacooks. 
He  is  treated  in  another  chapter.  Nanamocomuck 
was  a  peaceful  and  law-abiding  Indian,  who  at  one 
time  expressed  a  desire  to  adopt  the  Christian  reli- 
gion. He  was  so  abused  by  the  English,  however,  that 
his  friendliness  turned  to  bitter  hatred,  and  he  removed 
to  Maine  to  escape  their  obnoxious  proximity.2  Upon 
a  certain  occasion  the  Sachem  of  Wachusett  had  be- 

1  Bouton :  Hist,  of  Concord,  26 ;  Potter :  Hist,  of  Manchester,  64. 
'Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  64,  82-3. 
52 


Passaconaway' s  Papooses  53 

come  responsible  for  a  fellow-tribesman  who  owed  a 
small  debt  to  a  white  man,  John  Tinker,  and  for  this 
debt  he  was  imprisoned — "unjustly  as  it  would  seem" 
— in  Boston.  His  generous  brother,  Wonalancet,  made 
a  great  sacrifice — selling  his  own  home — in  order  to 
redeem  this  brother.3  Nanamocomuck  died  quite 
young,  while  Passaconaway  was  still  Bashaba,  so  that 
he  never  became  chief  of  the  Pennacook  tribe  and  head 
of  the  Confederacy,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he 
lived  longer. 

Of  Passaconaway's  daughters  the  name  of  only  one, 
Wenunchus,  has  been  handed  down  to  us.  Another 
daughter,  probably  the  oldest,  married  Nobhow.  We 
have  as  evidence  his  signature  to  a  petition  in  behalf 
of  his  wife,  which  petition  also  was  signed  by  the 
sons  of  Passaconaway.  It  is  highly  probable,  there- 
fore, that  Nobhow  signed  as  the  husband  of  one  of 
the  Bashaba's  daughters.4 

Another  daughter,  perhaps  the  youngest,  married 
Manatahqua,  or  Black  William,  as  the  English  called 
him.  In  1630  he  was  Sachem  of  Saugus  (Lynn)  and 
vicinity.  Like  his  father-in-law,  he  was  a  faithful 
friend  of  the  whites,  of  which  friendship,  however,  the 
ungrateful  English  were  unworthy.  In  November, 
1631,  a  rascally  trader,  well  versed  in  the  knavery  of 
commercialism,  was  murdered  by  some  Indians  who, 
undoubtedly,  had  been  stung  into  revenge  by  repeated 
swindlings.  The  crime  took  place  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Saco,  and  it  was  a  well-known  fact  that  some  of 

8  Potter :  Hist,  of  Manchester,  65-6. 
4  The   same,   64-5. 


54  Passaconaway 

Squidrayset's  men,  Indians  of  the  vicinity,  had  commit- 
ted the  murder.  Over  a  year  later,  in  January,  1633, 
the  unfortunate  Black  William  happened  to  be  near 
this  ill-fated  spot.  A  sloop  was  cruising  about  the 
coast  in  search  of  pirates.  Upon  nearing  the  spot 
where  the  murder  had  been  committed,  the  white  sail- 
ors recalled  the  incident,  and  vengeful  passions  arose 
within  them.  At  that  very  moment  an  Indian  appeared 
on  the  shore.  It  was  Black  William.  They  lost  no 
time  in  seizing  him  and,  with  no  provocation  whatever 
on  his  part,  and  well  knowing  that  he  was  personally 
innocent,  they  hung  him.5 

Many  writers,  including  Judge  Potter,  believe  that 
Wenunchus,  the  Bashaba's  other  daughter,  married 
Montowampate,  the  Sachem  of  Saugus.  All  historians 
agree  that  she  was  the  wife  of  a  sachem  of  Saugus, 
but  there  seem  to  have  been  two  brothers,  Montowam- 
pate and  Winnepurkitt,  who  held  the  Saugus  sachem- 
ship  in  the  1620*5  and  i63o's.  The  weight  of  the  evi- 
dence seems  to  show  that  it  was  the  elder  of  these, 
Montowampate,  and  not  Winnepurkitt,  who  was  the 
husband  of  Wenunchus. 

Montowampate,  whom  the  English  named  "Saga- 
more James,"  6  was  born  in  161 1.  He  was  the  son  of 
Nanepashemet,  and  was  the  eldest  of  three  sons.  Saga- 
more James  went  to  Governor  Winthrop  on  March 
26,  1631,  in  order  to  recover  twenty  beaver  skins  of 
which  he  had  been  defrauded  by  an  Englishman  named 

'Lewis:  Hist,  of  Lynn;  Winthrop:  Journal,  vol.  I,  62,  63;  Hubbard:' 
Hist,  of  New  England,  195. 
6 Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  65. 


Passaconaway's  Papooses  55 

Watts.  Watts  had  returned  to  England.  But  the 
governor  gave  the  young  sachem  a  letter  to  an  influen- 
tial gentleman  in  London,  and  it  is  thought  that  the 
fearless  Indian  actually  made  the  trip  to  England  and 
recovered  what  was  due  him.7 

Considerable  hard  feeling  had  arisen  over  the  ques- 
tion of  boundaries  between  the  whites  and  the  Indians, 
"but,"  as  Mather  piously  remarked,  "God  ended  the 
controversy  by  sending  the  small-pox  among  the  In- 
dians at  Saugus,  who  were  before  that  time  exceed- 
ingly numerous."  8  M onto wamp ate  died  of  this  dis- 
ease in  December,  i633-9  His  two  surviving  brothers, 
Wonohaquaham  and  Winnepurkitt,  "promised,  if  ever 
they  recovered,  to  live  with  the  English,  and  serve  their 
God."  10 

The  marriage  woes  of  Wenunchus  have  been  immor- 
talized in  Whittier's  "Bridal  of  Pennacook."  X1  Yet 
the  story  as  he  gives  it  is  not  historically  accurate, 
although  it  is,  as  one  writer  has  said,  "very  good  poe- 
try." 12  For  example,  the  poet  calls  the  bride  Weeta- 
moo,  while  her  true  name  was  Wenunchus.  The  real 
Weetamoo  was  the  wife  of  Alexander,  the  brother  of 
King  Philip.13  Moreover,  the  poet  attributes  a  tragic 
end  to  the  lovelorn  bride.  Happily,  history  is  some- 

7  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  in. 
"The  same. 

"Young's  Chronicles,  303,  note;   Hubbard:  New  England,  cited  in 
Bouton:  Hist,  of  Concord,  34. 
10  Drake:   Indians  of   North  America,   in. 
"Whittier:  The  Bridal  of  Pennacook. 
"See  Drake:  Old  Indian  Chronicles. 
13  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  in. 


56  Passaconaway 

times  kinder  than  poetry,  for,  to  state  the  actual  facts 
in  cold  prose,  the  bride  was  still  living  near  Salem  some 
fifty-eight  years  later  than  the  time  when  the  poet  kills 
off  his  heroine.14 

Upon  Montowampate's  arrival  at  man's  estate,  he 
won  Wemmchus'  hand,  probably  about  1628.  Passa- 
conaway sent  messengers,  inviting  all  the  people  of  his 
domains  to  the  wedding  feast.  Legend  tells  of  the 
magnificent  banquet  following  the  marriage  cere- 
monies, such  a  feast  as  only  the  wealthiest  and  most 
powerful  Indian  over-lord  in  New  England  could  pro- 
vide. All  the  people  were  present  and  the  occasion 
was  one  never  to  be  forgotten.  Indian  custom  de- 
manded that,  in  addition  to  the  parental  feast,  the 
groom's  people,  if  the  bride  and  groom  were  members 
of  different  tribes,  should  give  another  feast  when  the 
husband  brought  his  bride  home  to  his  wigwam.15  The 
bridal  party  left  Pennacook  and  set  out  for  Saugus, 
accompanied  by  an  escort  of  picked  warriors  provided 
by  Passaconaway.  Doubtless  the  customary  second 
feast  was  spread  in  honor  of  Wenunchus,  now  Mrs. 
Montowampate,  to  welcome  her  to  her  new  home. 

The  newly  married  couple  lived  happily  together 
for  a  short  time,  when  Wenunchus  experienced  an  at- 
tack of  homesickness,  and  expressed  a  desire  to  visit 
her  people  at  Pennacook.  Montowampate  consented, 

•**~ 

14  For  substance  of  story  see  Whittier,  466,  "Bridal  of  Pennacook" ; 
Drake:  New  England  Legends  and  Folk  Lore,  127-131;  Morton:  New 
England  Canaan,  154-7;  Clarke:  Poets'  New  England,  87;  Lyford: 
History  of  Concord. 

"Lyford:  Hist,  of  Concord. 


Passaconaway's  Papooses  57 

and  ordered  a  select  band  of  braves  to  escort  her  to 
Passaconaway's  residence.  After  a  short  visit,  Wc- 
nunchus  informed  her  father  of  her  desire  to  return 
to  her  husband,  whereupon  the  Bashaba  forwarded  a 
message  to  Sagamore  James,  asking  him  to  send  an 
escort  for  Wenunchus.  This  seems  to  have  nettled  the 
young  sachem,  for  his  reply  was  sharp  and  haughty. 
He  stated  that,  inasmuch  as  he  had  escorted  her  to 
her  father's  house  in  a  manner  worthy  of  her  social 
rank,  now  that  she  wished  to  return  her  father  should 
provide  the  necessary  escort.  Passaconaway,  consid- 
ering such  an  answer  to  be  an  insult,  seems  to  have  lost 
his  temper — a  thing  we  have  no  record  of  his  doing 
except  in  this  poem — and,  standing  upon  his  dignity, 
he  stoutly  refused  to  yield.  The  younger  man,  like- 
wise, stubbornly  refused  to  recede  from  the  position  he 
had  taken. 

In  all  this  controversy  the  wish  of  Wenunchus  seems 
to  have  been  entirely  overlooked,  for,  no  matter  how 
much  both  Passaconaway  and  M onto wamp ate  might 
have  been  willing  to  do  to  please  her,  neither  would 
budge  an  inch  on  the  question  concerning  the  method 
of  her  rejoining  the  husband  for  whom  her  heart  was 
yearning.  So  she  remained  at  Pennacook,  the  unthink- 
ing cause  and  unhappy  victim  of  a  men's  quarrel.  As 
pictured  by  Whittier,  the  bride,  pining  to  return,  se- 
cretly stole  from  her  father's  wigwam,  pushed  a  canoe 
into  the  Merrimac,  and  drifted  down  towards  Saga- 
more James's  country.  But,  alas,  she  was  capsized 
in  some  rapids  and  lost.  So  much  for  poetry. 

The  real  facts  seem  to  have  been  that  her  domestic 


58  Passaconaway 

life  was  interrupted  for  some  time  by  this  unhappy 
altercation  between  her  husband  and  the  Bashaba.16 
Yet  Wenunchus  finally  was  restored  to  her  husband, 
though  whether  escorted  or  not  we  do  not  know;  for 
when  a  raid  was  made  upon  Saugus  by  eastern  Indians, 
in  1632,  she  was  in  Montowampate's  wigwam  with  him 
and  was  left  unharmed.17  As  already  stated,  Mon- 
towampate  died  in  1633  of  the  small-pox.18  Accord- 
ing to  the  historian  of  Salem,  Wenunchus  was  still 
living  in  1686  near  Salem.19  Lake  Wenunchus,  in 
Lynn,  and  the  ladies'  club-house,  Camp  Weetamoo,  in 
Concord,  N.  H.,  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  Penna- 
cook  bride,  as  do  also  Mount  Weetamoo  in  Campton, 
and  the  Weetamoo  Branch  Path  which  connects  the 
Piper  Trail  with  the  Hammond  Path  on  Mount  Cho- 
corua  and  which  leads  through  Weetamoo  Glen  and 
past  Weetamoo  Rock.20 

I  will  briefly  narrate  the  career  of  Winnepurkitt  (or, 
perhaps,  Wenepoykin),  who  is  regarded  by  some 
writers  (Drake  among  them)  as  the  husband  of  We- 
nunchus. Winnepurkitt  was  born  in  1616,  and,  at  his 
brother's  death  in  1633,  became  Sachem  of  Saugus. 
He  had  about  forty  men  under  his  command.  Not  only 
did  he  embrace  Christianity,  but  he  wore  clothes  like 
the  English.  About  1630  he  was  proprietor  of  Deer 
Island  in  Boston  Harbor,  and,  because  of  certain  other 

18 Potter:  Hist,  of  Manchester,  65. 

"See   Hubbard:  New  England,   cited   in   Bouton:   History  of   Con- 
cord, 34. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,   in. 

19  Felt:  Hist,  of  Salem,  cited  in  Bouton:  Hist,  of  Concord,  34. 

30  A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  Paths  in  the  White  Mountains,  1916,  310,  314. 


Passaconaway' s  Papooses  59 

lands  which  he  held,  he  was  known  among  the  whites 
as  "George  Rumney-marsh."  21 

After  Philip's  War,  when  hundreds  of  the  partici- 
pants in  that  fateful  outbreak  were  seized  by  the  vic- 
tors and  hung  or  transported  for  slaves,  this  sachem 
was  taken.  He  was  sold  into  slavery  in  the  Barbadoes, 
along  with  scores  of  others.22  But  an  Indian  is  no 
man's  slave,  and  no  bonds  can  hold  him  in  servitude! 
Not  many  years  later,  large  numbers  of  these  unfortu- 
nate red  men  escaped  and,  by  one  means  or  another, 
made  their  way  back  to  their  native  soil.  Winnepur- 
kitt  was  one  of  those  who  succeeded  in  returning;  but 
he  was  not  long  to  enjoy  his  freedom,  for,  in  1684, 
at  the  age  of  sixty-eight,  he  died,23  probably  the  victim 
of  the  hardships  encountered  in  slavery  or  incurred 
during  his  desperate  efforts  to  escape  from  bondage. 

Ahawayetsquaine  is  mentioned  as  a  wife  of  Winne- 
purkitt  and  by  her  he  had  several  children.24  Some 
writers,  who  regard  Winnepurkitt  as  the  husband  of 
Wenunchus,  explain  his  marriage  to  Ahawayetsquaine 
by  assuming  that  the  bridegroom,  supposing  that  old 
Passaconaway  had  recalled  his  daughter  forever,  had 
remarried.  Others  tell  us  that  he  had  more  than  one 
wife. 

To  Wonalancet,  the  best  known  and  most  lovable 
son  of  Passaconaway,  we  shall  devote  a  separate 
chapter. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,   1 11-112. 
22  Same. 
38  Same. 
24  Same. 


CHAPTER  III 

WONALANCET,    THE    "PLEASANT-BREATHING" 

WONALANCET  was  born  about  1618.  He 
was  the  third  child  of  Passaconaway;  Nana- 
mocomuck,  the  Sachem  of  Wachusett,  and  a  sister  pre- 
ceding him.1  Had  the  older  brother  been  alive  in 
1669,  he  would  have  become  chief;  but  in  this  year 
we  find  Wonalancet  stepping  into  the  position  left  va- 
cant by  his  father's  retirement.2 

Resembling  Passaconaway  in  pacific  temperament 
and  friendliness  towards  the  whites,3  he  was  named 
"Wonne,"  meaning  "pleasant,"  and  "Nangshonat," 
meaning  "to  breathe."  4  From  this  jumble  of  letters 
and  guttural  sounds  we  derive  Wonalancet,  a  more 
pronounceable  word  signifying  "pleasant-breathing." 
Bouton  says:  "He  was  wronged  by  the  whites,  dis- 
trusted by  the  Indians;  a  wanderer  in  the  wilderness, 
in  unknown  but  remote  places  from  Pennacook;  at  one 
time  a  prisoner  at  Dover;  for  many  years  under  the 
watch  and  supervision  of  Col.  Tyng,  of  Chelmsford; 
and  at  last  he  died,  like  his  noble  father,  in  poverty."  5 

1  See  chapter  on  "Passaconaway's  Papooses"  in  this  work. 

*  Compare  Bureau  of  American  Ethnology,  Bull.  No.  30,  part  II,  910, 
Handbook  of  American  Indians. 

'The  same. 

*  Potter:  Hiitory  of  Manchester,  66. 

*  Bouton :  History  of  Concord,  27. 

60 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          61 

He  certainly  must  have  possessed  a  mild  and  charitable 
temperament,  for,  on  repeated  occasions,  he  was  griev- 
ously wronged,  and  once  he  was  actually  wounded,  by 
those  whom  he  had  befriended.6 

Wonalancet  pitched  his  wigwam  upon  the  hill  east 
of  the  Amoskeag  Falls,  near  Manchester.  At  this 
place  were  held  the  council-fires  at  which  all  tribal 
affairs  were  discussed.  Also  he  kept  in  repair  the  fort 
at  Pennacook  as  a  refuge  in  case  of  another  Mohawk 
invasion. 

Wonalancet  long  clung  to  his  ancient  religious  be- 
liefs, even  after  his  father  had  accepted  Christianity. 
Often  he  voiced  the  wish  to  die,  as  he  had  lived,  in 
the  religion  of  his  ancestors.7  Not  until  1674  did  he 
accept  the  faith  of  the  whites,  and  then  only  under  the 
mild  and  continued  persuasion  of  John  Eliot.8  Yet  all 
through  his  sad  and  troubled  life  Wonalancet  practiced 
the  Golden  Rule,  Love,  and  Charity.9 

Almost  the  first  time  his  name  appears  he  is  doing 
a  Christian  act,  sacrificing  his  ancestral  lands,  on  which 
his  own  wigwam  stood,  to  raise  money  to  ransom  his 
brother,  as  already  narrated.  Old  Passaconaway's 
heart  was  rent  with  sorrow  because  of  the  imprison- 
ment in  Boston  of  his  eldest  son,  Nanamocomuck,  who 
had,  according  to  findings  of  the  Court,  become  re- 
sponsible for  another  Indian's  debt  to  one  John  Tinker, 

8  See  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  66;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord, 
quoting  New  Hampshire  Provincial  Papers,  vol.  II,  47. 
'Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  67. 
*  Same. 
'Compare  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


62  Pas  sac  on  away 

an  Englishman.  Nanamocomuck  was  thrown  into  a 
Boston  jail  until  the  debt  should  be  paid.10  Wona- 
lancet's  position  was  this :  his  father  soon  would  be 
forced  to  lay  down  the  Bashabaship  because  of  his 
advanced  age,  and,  with  the  rightful  heir  in  jail 
indefinitely,  Wonalancet  would  succeed  to  the  coveted 
position.  But  this  "heathen  salvage,"  entirely  ignoring 
personal  gain,  hesitated  not;  he  obtained  a  permit  and 

,  auctioned   off   an   island — his   home — thereby   raising 

/  money  to  free  his  brother. 

For  many  years  Wonalancet  had  full  knowledge 
that  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts  was  offering  Brit- 
ish gold  to  encourage  another  Mohawk  raid.11  His 
people  knew  it  also,  yet  Wonalancet  came  in  closer 
towards  the  English  and  in  1674  even  embraced  their 
religion.  These  acts  of  Wonalancet,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, caused  doubts  and  anxiety  among  his  peo- 
ple, and  large  numbers  deserted  him.  But  those  who 
stood  by  him  realized  that,  instead  of  "selling  out"  his 
people  to  their  enemies,  his  policy  was  to  strengthen 
them  against  the  Maguas. 

In  1674  Eliot  preached  to  the  Pennacooks  and  the 
Bashaba  appeared  very  grave  and  sober.  Prior  to  this 
date  he  had  been  keeping  the  Sabbath  and  attending 
service  at  Wamesit.  "The  next  day,  May  6,  1674,  Mr. 
Eliot  proposed  to  him  to  give  an  answer  concerning  his 
praying  to  God.  Wonalancet  stood  up  (in  his  wig- 

10 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  66-7. 

"Provincial  Papers  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  174;  Belknap:  His- 
tory of  New   Hampshire,   vol.   I,    126. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          63 

warn)  and  after  due  pause  and  deliberation  gave  this 
answer: — 'Sirs,  you  have  been  pleased,  for  years  past, 
in  your  abundant  love,  to  apply  yourselves  particularly 
unto  me  and  my  people,  to  exhort,  press,  and  persuade 
us  to  pray  to  God;  1  am  very  thankful  to  you  for  your 
pains.  I  must  acknowledge  I  have  all  my  days  been 
used  to  pass  in  an  old  canoe,  and  now  you  exhort  me 
to  leave  and  change  my  old  canoe  and  embark  in  a 
new  one,  to  which  I  have  been  unwilling;  but  now  I 
yield  myself  to  your  advice  and  enter  into  a  new  canoe 
and  do  engage  to  pray  to  God  hereafter.'  "  12 

Gookin  writes  that  Brother  Eliot  made  this  reply 
to  Wonalancet:  "It  may  be,  while  he  went  in  his  old 
canoe  he  passed  in  a  quiet  stream — but  the  end 
thereof  was  death  and  destruction  to  soul  and  body. 
But  now  he  went  into  a  new  canoe,  perhaps  he  would 
meet  with  storms  and  trials;  but  yet  he  should  be  en- 
couraged to  persevere,  for  the  end  of  the  voyage 
should  be  everlasting  rest."  "Since  that  time,"  Gookin 
continues,  "I  hear  this  sachem  doth  persevere,  and  is 
a  constant  and  diligent  hearer  of  God's  word,  and 
sanctifieth  the  Sabbath,  though  he  doth  travel  to 
Wamesit  meeting  every  Sabbath,  which  is  about  two 
miles ;  and  though  sundry  of  his  people  have  deserted 
him  since  he  subjected  to  the  gospel,  yet  he  continues 
and  persists."  13 

The  following  year,  1675,  came  King  Philip's  War. 
Temptations  to  join  the  son  of  Massasoit  were  strong. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  69. 

"Gookin:  Historical  Collections  of  the  Indians  in  New  England,  in 
Collections  of  Massachusetts  Historical  Society,  vol.  I,  187. 


64  Pas  sac  on  away 

Repeatedly  embassies  were  sent  to  Wonalancet  to  per- 
suade him  to  join  the  belligerent  Indians.  With  these 
emissaries  buzzing  among  his  people,  all  too  frequently 
persuading  individuals  to  join  the  luckless  cause,  and 
with  the  English  increasingly  distrusting  the  friendship 
of  the  loyal  Indians,  the  pacific  chieftain  had  a  try- 
ing time.14  He  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  retract 
his  pledge  of  submission  to  the  English  Government, 
and  too  much  of  a  patriot  to  fight  against  his  own 
race,  relatives  and  friends.15  Fully  cognizant  of  his 
predicament,  he  realized  that  he  must  pursue  his  pa- 
cific policy  and,  keeping  faith  with  his  conscience,  must 
remain  neutral.  He  realized  also  that,  in  order  to 
hold  his  subjects  in  check,  he  must  withdraw  from  the 
neighborhood  of  the  whites,  who  were  butchering  his 
kinsmen  unscrupulously;  while  against  such  treatment 
he  was  unable  to  offer  effectual  protest.  So,  taking  all 
their  crops  and  belongings,  he  and  his  people  removed 
from  Wamesit  (Tewksbury,  Eliot's  fifth  town  of  pray- 
ing Indians)  to  the  wilderness  of  Pennacook.16 

They  had  not  been  gone  long  before  the  "Great  and 
General  Court,"  fearing  that  their  absence  was  a  sign 
of  hostility,  became  uneasy.  About  the  first  of  Oc- 
tober, 1675,  the  authorities  sent  a  runner  or  two  to 
the  fugitive  Bashaba,  stating  that  if  he  would  bring  his 
people  back  and  live  among  the  whites  at  Wamesit, 
the  protection  of  the  English  would  be  extended  to 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord;  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  70. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  73. 

"History  of  Concord;  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  70. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          65 

them.17  The  messengers  also  brought  Wonalancet  a 
written  order  from  Governor  Leverett,  giving  a  safe 
conduct  for  a  party  of  six  Indians,  to  meet  at  Lieu- 
tenant Hinchman's  house  at  Naumkeag  (Salem),  to 
confer  with  Captain  Gookin  and  John  Eliot,  who  were 
empowered  to  form  a  treaty  with  Wonalancet  such  as 
Passaconaway  had  made  a  few  years  before.18 

Right  here  I  must  insert  an  account  of  the  fate  of 
some  praying  Indians  then  living  at  Wamesit,  the  place 
where  Wonalancet  and  his  people  were  expected  to 
enjoy  the  protection  of  the  government,  if  they  re- 
turned. "Among  the  colonists  there  were  not  a  few 
who  desired  to  stir  up  an  excitement  against  the 
Wamesit  Indians,  residing  below  Pawtucket  Falls,  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Concord  River.  They  were  accused 
of  burning  a  stack  of  hay  belonging  to  James  Rich- 
ardson (unjustly  as  it  would  seem),  and  thirty-three 
able-bodied  men  were  taken  to  Boston  to  answer  to 
the  charge,  being  all  of  the  tribe  except  women,  chil- 
dren, old  men  and  cripples.  Three  of  them  were  con- 
demned to  be  sold  as  slaves  and  the  others  set  free. 
As  they  passed  through  Woburn,  under  the  charge  of 
Lieut.  Richardson,  they  were  fired  upon  by  one  of  a 
train  band  exercising  at  the  same  time  in  the  village — 
and  one  of  the  Indians  was  killed.  The  man  who  fired 
was  named  Knight.  The  Indian  killed  was  related 
to  the  principal  Indians  of  Natick  and  Wamesit. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  71;  see  Mass.  Archives;  Lyford: 
History  of  Concord. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  71;  compare  Drake:  Indians  of 
North  America,  280. 


66  Pas  sac  on  away 

Knight  was  arrested  and  tried  for  the  murder,  and,  as 
Gookin  says,  'was  acquitted  by  the  Jury,  much  con- 
trary to  the  mind  of  the  bench;  the  Jury  alleged  they 
wanted  evidence,  and  the  prisoner  plead  that  the  gun 
went  off  by  accident,  indeed  witnesses  were  mealy 
mouthed  in  giving  evidence.  The  Jury  was  sent  out 
again  and  again  by  the  Judges  who  were  much  unsat- 
isfied with  the  Jury's  proceedings;  but  the  Jury  did 
not  see  cause  to  alter  their  mind  and  so  the  fellow 
was  cleared.'  " 19 

On  November  15  Lieut.  Richardson's  barn  burned 
down.  No  evidence  could  be  found  as  to  the  cause 
of  the  conflagration,  but  it  was  attributed  to  the 
Wamesits.  Fourteen  of  the  Chelmsford  men — no 
doubt  properly  inflamed  with  patriotism  and  rum — 
marched  to  the  camp  of  the  Indians.  The  latter  were 
peremptorily  ordered  out  of  their  wigwams,  where- 
upon two  whites  fired  upon  them,  killing  a  boy  and 
wounding  five  women  and  children.  The  two  "pa- 
triots," Lorgin  and  Robbins,  were  seized  and  later  a 
trial  was  held.  The  honorable  Jury  found  them  "Not 
Guilty,"  "to  the  great  grief"  (to  quote  Gookin)  "and 
trouble  generally  of  the  magistracy  and  ministry  and 
other  wise  and  godly  men."  20 

On  February  6,  1676,  having  taken  to  the  woods  in 
search  of  Wonalancet,  having  lost  their  way  and  many 
lives  by  hardship  and  starvation,  and  at  length  being 
forced  to  return  to  Chelmsford,  the  Wamesits  peti- 
tioned to  be  removed  from  their  reservation  to  a 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  73. 
"The  same,  74. 


Wonalancct,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          67 

"safer"  location.21  The  government  was  too  busy  to 
notice  this  humble  petition.  In  desperation  these  In- 
dians left,  bag  and  baggage,  and  retreated  to  the 
wilderness  and  to  the  French.  The  departure  was 
necessarily  made  in  haste  so  that  they  were  forced 
to  leave  behind  five  or  six  of  their  aged  and  blind 
kinsmen.  They  left  these  unfortunates  in  a  large  wig- 
wam. The  next  day  some  Chelmsford  men  found 
these,  and,  setting  fire  to  the  wigwam,  they  roasted  the 
occupants  alive.22 

When  the  Wamesits  were  asked  concerning  their 
abrupt  departure  they  sent  the  following  letter  to  Lieut. 
Hinchman:  "To  Mr.  Thos.  Henchman  of  Chelmsford. 
I  Numphow,  and  John  Line,  we  send  the  messenger  to 
you  again  with  this  answer,  we  cannot  come  home 
again,  we  go  towards  the  French,  we  go  where  Wona- 
lancet  is;  the  reason  is,  we  went  away  from  our  home, 
we  had  help  from  the  Council,  but  that  did  not  do  us 
good,  but  we  had  wrong  by  the  English.  2dly.  The 
reason  is  we  went  away  from  the  English,  for  when 
there  was  any  harm  done  in  Chelmsford,  they  laid 
it  to  us  and  said  we  did  it,  but  we  know  ourselves  we 
never  did  harm  the  English,  but  we  go  away  peaceably 
and  quietly.  3dly.  As  to  the  Island"  (the  Government 
had  reserved  one  for  their  use)  "we  say  there  is  no 
safety  for  us  for  many  English  be  not  good,  and  may 
be  they  come  to  us  and  kill  us,  as  in  the  other  case. 
We  are  not  sorry  for  what  we  leave  behind,  but  are 
sorry  the  English  have  driven  us  from  our  praying  to 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  75. 
"The  same,  75-6. 


68  Passaconaway 

God  and  from  our  teacher  (Mr.  Eliot).  We  did  be- 
gin to  understand  a  little  praying  to  God.  We  thank 
humbly  the  Council.  We  remember  our  love  to  Mr. 
Henchman  and  James  Richardson. 

"The  mark  of  L  John  Line,    1  their 
"The  mark  of  X  Numphow,     j  Rulers."23 

But  to  return  to  Wonalancet.  Runners  had  been 
despatched  to  invite  him  to  come  and  live  with  the 
English  at  Wamesit.  The  messengers  reached  the 
tribe,  but  did  not  see  its  Bashaba.24  Leaving  the  writ- 
ten message,  they  returned.  Wonalancet  deemed  it 
prudent  to  retreat  deeper  into  the  forests.  With  his 
band  rent  by  discord  and  suspicion,  his  adherents  now 
numbered  less  than  one  hundred.25  The  General  Court 
misinterpreted  their  movement  and  a  rumor  spread 
that  "at  Pennacook  there  were  mighty  bands  of  In- 
dians gathering  for  mischief."  26 

Captain  Mosely,  fresh  from  his  victories  in  Philip's 
War,  was  ordered  to  march  on  Pennacook,  and,  seiz- 
ing the  fort,  to  disperse  the  gathered  hordes.  Wona- 
lancet had  been  too  honorable  to  break  faith  with  the 
English  during  the  recent  strife,  yet  they  were  now 
ordering  troops  to  pillage  and  slay  his  people.  Wona- 
lancet learned  of  their  approach  and  led  his  followers 
into  the  swamps  and  marshes,  where,  from  behind 

23 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  75;  quo.  from  Coll.  Amer.  Ant. 
Soc.,  vol.  II,  483. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  280;  Lyford:  History  of  Con- 
cord. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  280. 

26 Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          69 

trees,  they  could  watch  every  move  of  the  whites.27 
The  soldiers  destroyed  their  wigwams  and  winter's 
supply  of  dried  fish.  Many  braves  urged  Wonalancet 
to  fight  the  invaders,  for,  from  their  ambush,  the  In- 
dians could  have  cut  down  the  white  soldiers  with  but 
little  damage  to  themselves.28  Then,  too,  there  was 
that  strongest  of  all  arguments — an  Indian  maiden  will 
not  accept  her  lover  until  he  can  display  the  scalp  of 
an  enemy.29  Many  of  the  young  braves  had  had  no 
chance,  at  least  openly,  to  kill  an  enemy  during  the 
latter  half  of  Passaconaway's  reign.  Here  was  their 
opportunity.  Moreover,  not  only  had  the  Pennacooks 
been  injured  and  insulted,  but  they  were  facing  actual 
starvation.30  But  the  sachem,  probably  with  Passa- 
conaway's farewell  speech  ringing  in  his  filial  memory, 
held  the  fire-eaters  in  check,  and  suffered  not  one  brave 
to  show  himself  or  fire  a  shot.31 

Wonalancet  did  not  check  the  march  of  his  refugees 
until  the  headwaters  of  the  Connecticut  River  had  been 
gained.32  Then  only  did  they  settle  down,  far  from 
English  wrong-doers,  yet  ever  facing  death,  for  the 
winter  was  a  terrible  one.  With  scantiest  supply  of 
food,  their  numbers  presently  were  swelled  by  the 
arrival  of  the  half-starved  Wamesit  refugees.  All  this 
trial  and  suffering  had  come  to  the  Pennacooks  simply 

"Drake:    Indians   of   North   America,    279-80.     Potter:    History   of 
Manchester,  72.     Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

28  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 

29  Compare  John  Fiske:  Dutch  and  Quaker  Colonies,  vol.  I,  316-317. 
'"'"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  72-3. 

31  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  279-280. 

32 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  72;  Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


70  Passaconaway 

because  their  leader,  from  conscientious  scruples,  was 
endeavoring  to  be  non-partisan  and  peaceable.  The 
climax  came  in  the  September  of  1676,  after  the  close 
of  Philip's  War.  Beaten  and  disbanded  Indians  fled 
in  all  directions.  The  Provincial  Government,  flushed 
with  victory,  issued  orders  to  seize  all  red  men  of 
inimical  or  doubtful  status.  Those  captured  were 
tried  at  Boston  and  several  were  convicted  of  murder 
and  were  hung:  the  remainder  were  transported. 

Peace  now  being  established,  the  Pennacooks  re- 
turned to  their  camping  grounds.  Wonalancet  and 
Squando's  names  are  found  on  a  treaty  signed  at 
Major  Waldron's.  The  signing  of  this  treaty  by 
Squando  marke'd  the  real  end  of  the  conflict,  for 
Philip's  War  had  had  a  "bloody  sequel"  in  Maine.33 

The  Indians  who  had  cast  in  their  lot  with  Philip 
were  tracked  and  hunted  down.34  Hundreds  of  these 
unfortunates  had  worked  their  way  northward  and  were 
enjoying  the  hospitality  afforded  by  their  kinsmen  on 
the  Merrimac,  the  Pennacooks  and  others.  They 
hoped  that  time  would  erase  their  guilt  and  that,  by 
mingling  with  these  friendly  Indians,  they  would  be 
accounted  as  adopted  into  these  tribes.35  Not  so  did 
it  prove!  The  Court  learned  of  their  presence  and 
sent  companies  of  soldiers  under  Captain  Syll  and 
Captain  Hawthorne  after  them.  On  the  evening 
of  September  sixth  they  arrived  at  Dover.  That 
evening  there  were  about  four  hundred  Indians  who 

"  See  Potter :  History  of  Manchester,  77 ;  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 

14  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 

"Compare  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  280. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          71 

had  come  in  under  Major  Waldron's  safe  conduct  to 
trade  at  his  post.  Waldron,  acting  under  the  author- 
ity of  the  government,  had  given  his  promise  of  pro- 
tection to  the  Pennacooks.  Yet  the  "strange  Indians" 
must  be  taken.  The  soldiers  were  for  falling  upon 
them  at  once,  but  Waldron  dissuaded  them  from  that. 
The  trader  had  been  unscrupulous  in  his  dealings — 
had  let  his  fist  weigh  as  only  one  pound  against  many 
fine  skins  and  had  sold  the  natives  rum  and  cheap 
cloth — yet  this  time  he  posed  as  a  friend  of  the  Pen- 
nacooks. He  knew  that  if  the  soldiers  made  a  gen- 
eral attack  not  only  Pennacooks  but  many  white  men 
also  would  fall.  Hence  he  insisted  that  the  refu- 
gees should  be  taken  by  strategy.36 

Next  morning  the  news  was  spread  among  the  sav- 
ages that  a  great  game  was  to  be  played  with  them. 
The  unsuspecting  redskins  were  delighted  over  the 
prospect,  especially  when  the  promise  of  a  cannon  was 
made  them.  All  was  explained  to  them, — how  the  con- 
testants were  to  divide  into  two  parties,  one  Indian 
and  one  white,  and  have  a  drill  followed  by  a  sham 
fight.  "Tradition  says  that  the  Indians  were  fur- 
nished with  a  cannon  mounted  upon  wheels,  which 
pleased  them  very  much.  They  were  ignorant  of  its 
management,  and  were  furnished  with  gunners  by  the 
English.  The  Indians  manned  the  drag  ropes,  and 
the  sham  fight  commenced.  In  changing  the  direc- 
tion of  the  cannon,  the  English  gunners  ranged  the  piece 
along  a  file  of  Indians  upon  one  of  the  drag  ropes,  and 
fired,  killing  and  wounding  a  large  number.  This 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  78. 


72  Passaconaway 

was  attributed  to  accident."  37 

In  the  midst  of  this  game  the  Indians  were  sur- 
rounded, and  not  until  it  was  too  late  did  the  red 
warriors  perceive  the  trap  that  had  been  set  for  them. 
The  whites,  with  loaded  rifles,  closed  in  upon  the  hap- 
less Indians  and  disarmed  them.  The  "strange  In- 
dians" were  put  in  one  group  and  the  friendly  ones 
in  another.  The  Pennacooks  were  allowed  to  go  free. 
The  others  were  marched  off  to  Boston.  Here,  after 
trial,  six  were  condemned  and  hung.  The  others 
(about  two  hundred  in  number)  were  forced  aboard 
ships  and  later  sold  as  slaves  in  the  Barbadoes.38  Such 
trade  was  lucrative,  and  it  seems  quite  probable  that 
many  more  Indians  were  sold  than  those  who  had  been 
actually  hostile.  Indeed  Winnepurkitt,  Passacona- 
way's  son-in-law,  was  among  those  sold  into  slavery, 
although  his  participation  in  the  conflict  seems 
doubtful.39 

This  deception  greatly  enraged  the  Pennacooks  and 
they  pointed  to  it  as  an  insult  to  their  honor,  for  it 
had  been  under  their  hospitality  that  the  "strange  In- 
dians" had  come  into  Dover,  and  the  hosts  helplessly 
had  looked  on  while  their  guests  were  swept  away  to 
death  or  slavery.  Silently  they  nursed  their  grievance 
until,  many  years  later,  the  opportunity  came  to  "cross 
out  their  account."  40 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  78. 

^Charlton:  New  Hampshire  As  It  Is,  28-9;  Potter:  History  of  Man- 
chester, 78 ;  Lyford :  History  of  Concord ;  Bureau  of  American  Eth- 
nology Bull.  30,  part  II,  225,  Handbook  of  American  Indians. 

39  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  112. 

40  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          73 

Many  tribesmen  now  abandoned  the  unresisting 
Wonalancet  and  went  to  the  French  at  St.  Francis. 
By  order  of  the  Court,  the  decimated  Pennacooks  were 
transferred  to  Wickasaukee  and  Chelmsford,  where 
they  were  under  the  supervision  of  Mr.  Jonathan  Tyng 
of  Dunstable.41  But  the  Bashaba  had  little  corn,  he 
dwelt  on  an  unsettled  frontier,  and  he  was  wofully 
poverty-stricken.  Thus  did  the  forest  king  maintain 
an  uncomfortable  and  bitter  existence. 

The  Mohawks  again  went  on  the  warpath.  On 
March  15,  1677,  a  party  was  seen  by  Wonalancet's 
son,  at  whom  as  many  as  twenty  shots  were  fired, 
though  rae  escaped  uninjured.  A  second  time  the 
dreaded  Maguas  appeared  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Cocheco  (Dover),  but  were  driven  off  by  the  Penna- 
cooks with  some  assistance  from  the  whites.42 

Who  can  wonder  that  Wonalancet  chafed  within 
the  narrow  limits  of  his  reservation?43  In  all  proba- 
bility his  wife — related  to  some  Indians  whose  home 
was  in  Canada — notified  these  relatives  of  her  hus- 
band's straits.  For,  during  September,  1677,  a  party 
of  these  Indians  fell  upon  Wonalancet's  band  and, 
partly  by  force  and  partly  by  persuasion,  the  unhappy 
Pennacooks  were  led  captive  to  St.  Francis.  Under 
cover  of  this  show  of  force,  the  Bashaba  was  able  to 
escape  from  the  English  without  endangering  himself 
or  his  people.44 

41  Lyford :  History  of  Concord. 

"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  125-6. 

13  See  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  79. 

"Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


74  Passaconaway 

The  captives  made  their  home  at  St.  Francis,  al- 
though at  times  sundry  of  them  returned  for  short 
visits  to  their  native  soil,  New  Hampshire.  This  with- 
drawal was  considered  by  many  of  the  confederated 
tribes  as  an  abdication  of  the  Bashabaship.  Hence, 
from  this  time  on,  we  find  that  Kancamagus  was  the 
Bashaba  in  fact,  if  not  in  name. 

Of  the  later  years  of  Wonalancet's  life  little  is 
known,  until  1685,  when,  upon  report  of  his  "fierce 
and  warlike"  presence  at  Pennacook,  he  came  to  Dover, 
where  he  assured  the  government  of  New  Hampshire 
(which  now  had  become  a  Royal  Province)  that  there 
were  at  Pennacook  only  twenty-four  Indians  beside 
squaws  and  papooses,  and  that  this  paltry  band  had 
no  intention  of  making  war  upon  the  English.  His 
name  is  not  affixed  to  the  treaty  of  this  year,  which 
seems  to  prove  that  he  was  no  longer  the  recognized 
leader.  Four  years  later,  in  1689,  he  repeated  his 
assurances  of  peaceful  intentions.  He  is  said  to  have 
again  returned  to  St.  Francis  shortly  after.45 

But  the  White  Mountains  and  the  fertile  fields  south 
of  them  were  dear  to  Wonalancet's  heart;  he  could  not 
be  exiled  from  them,  and,  nine  years  later,  he  was 
again  living  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Tyng,  this  time 
at  Wamesit.  The  old  sachem  is  reported  as  having 
transferred  his  lands,  the  last  of  his  once  vast  domain, 
to  his  keeper.  Deeds  bearing  dates  of  1696  and  1697 
are  found,  made  out  to  Mr.  Tyng.46 

^Lyford:  History  of  Concord,  citing  from  New  Hampshire  Provin- 
cial Papers,   II,  47. 
**Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 


Wonalancet,  the  "Pleasant-Breathing"          75 

During  this  last  sojourn,  Wonalancet  visited  his  be- 
loved preacher,  Rev.  Mr.  Fiske  of  Chelmsford.  Upon 
inquiring  how  the  remaining  Pennacooks  had  behaved 
during  the  Indian  wars,  the  clergyman  replied  that 
"they  had  kept  the  peace  and  prospered,  for  which 
the  Lord  be  thanked."  "And  me  next,"  modestly 
added  Wonalancet,  well  knowing  that  it  was  he  him- 
self who  had  drilled  this  peaceful  policy  into  the  rest- 
less aborigines.47 

At  this  time  he  was  about  eighty  years  old. 
Whether  he  went  back  to  St.  Francis  or  died  in  his 
own  country  is  not  definitely  known;  the  time  of  his 
death  also  is  unknown.  He  is  believed  to  have  been 
buried  in  the  private  cemetery  of  the  Tyng  family,  in 
Tyngsboro,  Mass.48 

Geo.  Waldo  Browne  says:  "It  is  pleasant  to  note 
that  the  Massachusetts  Society  of  Colonial  Dames  have 
placed  on  one  of  the  boulders  lying  near  the  colonial 
mansion  house  occupied  by  Colonel  Jonathan  Tyng, 
where  the"  (next  to  the)  "last  Pennacook  sachem 
passed  his  closing  years,  a  memorial  tablet  properly 
inscribed."  49  His  name  also  is  attached  to  a  club 
and  clubhouse  in  Concord,  N.  H.,  to  a  little  White 
Mountain  hamlet — formerly  known  as  Birch  Inter- 
vale— and  Post  Office;  and,  in  the  glorious  old  days 
when  boys  used  to  collect  the  names  of  engines,  "Wona- 
lancet" was  the  name  of  a  locomotive  on  the  Concord 


"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  282;  Potter:  History  of  Man- 
chester, 79. 

4t  Granite  State  Magazine,  vol.  I,  9. 
"The  same. 


7  6  Pas  sac  on  away 

and  Northern  Railroad.50  On  August  I3th,  1811,  the 
ship  "Wonolanset,"  owned  by  Captain  Reuben  Shap- 
ley,  was  burned  at  Shapley's  wharf,  Portsmouth,  one 
hour  after  its  arrival  from  sea.51  In  the  summer  of 
1916  the  old  Tyng  mansion  in  Tyngsboro  was  opened 
.  as  the  Wannalancit  Inn.  Interesting  descriptions  of 
j '^  this  historic  garrison-house  may  be  found  in  the  Bos- 
ton Traveller  of  July  3,  1916,  and  the  Youth's  Com- 
panion of  August  31,  1916.  But  a  far  better  me- 
morial to  the  "pleasant-breathing"  Wonalancet  was 
erected  by  Miss  Lucy  Larcom  when  she  bestowed 
upon  one  of  the  gentler  hills  of  the  Sandwich  Range 
the  name  of  this  pacific,  conscientious  and  ill-fated 
chief. 

°°Bouton:  History  of   Concord,  20;   Granite   State  Magazine,  I,   9; 
Lyford:  History  of  Concord. 

"Adams:  Annals  of  Portsmouth,   352. 


CHAPTER    IV 

HOW  KANCAMAGUS   CROSSED   OUT  THE   ACCOUNT 

OHORTLY  before  1683  there  loomed  into  promi- 
kj  nence  a  man  very  different  in  temperament  and 
character  from  Passaconaway  and  Wonalancet,  namely, 
Kancamagus  (pronounced  Kankamaugus) ,  a  nephew 
of  Wonalancet  and  grandson  of  Passaconaway.  "Kan- 
camagus, commonly  in  the  histories  called  Hogkins, 
Hawkins,  or  Hakins,  was  an  artful,  persevering,  faith- 
ful man,  as  long  as  he  could  depend  upon  the  English 
for  protection."  l  He  possessed  more  fiery  passions 
and  far  less  self-control  than  his  predecessors  in  the 
Pennacook  chieftaincy.  But  Passaconaway's  great  ex- 
ample was  still  potent  among  the  New  Hampshire 
Indians,  and  at  the  beginning  of  Kancamagus'  sagamon- 
ship  we  find  him  a  peaceful  and  law-abiding  man. 

The  father  of  this  powerful  Indian  was  Nanamoco- 
muck,  the  oldest  son  of  Passaconaway.  Strangely 
enough,  instead  of  the  title  passing  through  Wonalan- 
cet to  his  son  it  reverted  back  to  the  son  of  the  elder 
chief,  long  dead.  Nanamocomuck,  already  mentioned, 
was  Sachem  of  Wachusett  and  was  at  one  time  un- 
justly, as  it  proved,  imprisoned  in  Boston.2  Being 
more  savage  than  his  younger  brother,  the  "gentle- 

1  Drake :  Indians  of  North  America,  297. 
2 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  67. 

77 


7  8  Passaconaway 

breathing"  Wonalancct,  possessing  a  temperament 
more  like  that  which  Kancamagus  later  showed,  Nana- 
mocomuck  changed  from  a  staunch  friend  of  the  Eng- 
lish to  a  bitter  hater.  He  finally  abandoned  his  pacific 
people  who  dwelt  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Wachusett  in 
Massachusetts  and  joined  the  Androscoggins,  in 
Maine.3  We  know  not  whether  he  joined  a  band 
inimical  to  the  English  or  not;  we  only  know  that  he 
died  among  these  people  before  Passaconaway  ab- 
dicated the  throne.  Thus  Kancamagus,  far  from  the 
restraining  and  softening  influence  of  Passaconaway, 
and  being  brought  up  with  the  warlike  ideals  of  his 
father  and  among  a  people  far  more  savage  than  the 
Pennacooks,  might  be  expected  to  favor  a  more  rad- 
ical war-policy  than  that  of  his  ancestral  tribe.  Nat- 
urally enough,  under  the  peaceful  and  inactive  rule 
of  Wonalancet,  many  of  the  more  fiery  of  the  Penna- 
cooks had  sundered  their  hereditary  ties  and  joined 
the  warlike  Maine  Indians.4 

In  1684  Kancamagus  succeeded  to  the  throne  of 
the  Indian  confederacy  and  brought  with  him  a  throng 
of  restless  and  vengeful  Androscoggins.  The  news 
spread  far  and  wide.  From  many  quarters  discon- 
tented Indians  flocked  to  the  standard  of  the  new 
chieftain,  who  was  a  man  of  powerful  physique  and 
compellingly  magnetic  personality.  He  was  a  born 
leader  and  quickly  gathered  together  the  remnants  of 

*Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition,  133;  com- 
pare Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  82-3. 
*  Compare  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition, 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       79 

the  once  powerful  Pennacooks.  Restless  men  came 
from  all  directions;  "strange  Indians"  returning 
from  slavery  naturally  gravitated  Kancamagusward.5 
It  is  interesting  to  note  how,  after  being  sold  as  slaves 
in  the  Barbadoes,  these  sons  of  the  forest  had  managed 
to  work  their  way  back  to  their  native  soil.  In  this 
year,  1684,  then,  we  find  Kancamagus  heading  a  mot- 
ley group  of  savages. 

The  English,  aware  of  the  lawless  bands  gathering 
at  Pennacook,  instead  of  preventing  the  coming  storm, 
in  reality  hastened  it,  for  their  government  again  re- 
newed its  perfidious  negotiations  with  the  Mohawks.6 
The  Pennacooks  knew  that  the  Mohawks  were  being 
hired  to  annihilate  all  the  Indians  from  Narragansett, 
R.  I.,  to  Brunswick,  Maine.7  This  alone,  even  with- 
out the  vengeance  the  Indians  were  nursing  against 
the  whites  for  the  Sham  Fight  treachery,  would  be  suf- 
ficient to  make  them  hate  the  white  usurpers.  Although 
terrible  in  revenge,  Kancamagus  did  not  deliberately 
stir  up  war.  He  was  a  staunch  ally  so  long  as  the 
whites  gave  him  a  measure  of  justice;  but  when  in- 
sulted, abused,  and  injured,  he  let  loose  the  furies  of 
war  and  reveled  in  his  gory  revenge.  This  new  Ba- 
shaba,  who,  as  it  proved,  was  to  be  the  last  of  the 
Bashabas,  was  not  a  man  to  be  abused  with  impunity. 

No  English  policy  could  have  been  more  perfidious 
than  this  buying  up  of  the  Maguas  to  raid  the  New 
England  Indians.  Little  wonder,  then,  that  a  few 

'Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition,  133. 

'See  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  29. 

'Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition,  133. 


8o  Passaconavvay 

years  later  we  find  Kancamagus  fighting  under  the 
"table  cloth"  standard  of  the  French.  Word  came 
back  from  the  Mohawks  that  they  intended  to  kill  all 
the  Indians  from  Mount  Hope  to  Pegypscott.8  The 
Pennacooks  immediately  rushed  to  their  stronghold  at 
Concord,  where,  many,  many  years  before,  the  Mo- 
hawks had  been  decisively  repulsed.  The  Bashaba 
made  a  trip  to  New  Castle,  in  order  that  by  strengthen- 
ing his  alliance  with  the  English — not  that  he  hated  the 
English  any  less  9 — he  might  protect  his  people  who 
lived  on  the  frontier  from  the  dreaded  Mohawks. 

"On  the  1 5th  of  May,  1685,  he  addressed  the  fol- 
lowing letter  to  Governor  Cranfield: 

"  'Honur  Governor,  my  friend. 

'  'You  my  friend,  I  desire  your  worship  and  your 
power,  because  I  hope  you  can  do  some  great  mat- 
ters this  one.  I  am  poor  and  naked  and  I  have  no 
men,  at  my  place,  because  I  afriad  allwayes  Mohogs  he 
will  kill  me  every  day  and  night.  If  your  worship 
when  please  pray  help  me  you  no  let  Mohogs  kill  me 
at  my  place  at  Malamake  rever  called  Panukkog  and 
Narukkog.  I  will  submit  your  worship  and  your  power. 
And  now  I  want  powder  and  such  alminishon,  shott 
and  guns  because  I  have  forth  at  my  horn  and  I  plant 
theare. 

'  'This  all  Indian  hand,  but  pray  you  do  consider 
your  humble  Servant,  "  'JOHN  HOGKINS.'  "  10 

8  Potter :  History  of  Manchester,  87. 
"Belknap:  Hist,  of  N.  H.,  Farmer's  Ed.,  133. 

10 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  84-5;  see  Files  in  Secretary's  Office, 
N.  H. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       81 

Underneath  his  name  are  the  signatures  or  marks 
of  fourteen  subordinate  Indians. 

We  find  the  Bashaba  sending  a  second  letter  to  the 
governor  on  the  same  day: 

"may  I5th,  1685. 

"Honour  Mr.  Governor,  now  this  day  I  com  your 
house,  I  want  se  you  and  I  bring  my  hand  at  before 
you  I  want  shake  hand  to  you  if  worship  when  please, 
then  you  Receive  my  hand,  then  shake  your  hand  and 
my  hand.  You  my  friend  because  I  Remember  at  old 
time  when  live  my  grant  father  and  grant  mother  then 
Englishmen  com  this  country,  then  my  grant  father 
and  Englishmen,  they  make  a  good  gouenant,  they 
friend  allwayes,  my  grant  father  leuing  at  place  called 
malamake  Rever,  other  name  hef  Natukkog  and  Pa- 
nukkog,  that  one  Rever  great  many  names  and  I  bring 
you  this  few  skins  at  this  first  time  I  will  giue  you  my 
friend,  this  all  Indian  hand 

"JOHN  X.  HAWKINS, 

"SAGAMON."  n 

Several  Indian  signatures  or  marks  follow. 

After  this  second  note  Kancamagus  was  recognized. 
He  was  given  a  message  expressing  Cranfield's  re- 
grets at  being  unable  to  see  him  because  of  "out  of 
town"  business.  Mr.  Mason  had  been  left  as  acting 
Governor  in  Cranfield's  absence.  The  neglected 
Kancamagus,  reasoning  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child, 
was  deeply  grieved  at  this  "putting  off,"  and  the  next 
day  sent  this  appealing  note  to  the  acting  governor: 

11  Same  reference  as  the  other  letter. 


82  Pass  aeon  away 

"mr  mason  pray  I  want  Speake  you  a  few  words 
if  your  worship  when  please  because  I  come  parpos  I 
will  speake  this  Gouernor  but  he  go  away  So  he  Say 
at  last  night  and  so  far  I  understand  this  Gouernor 
his  power  that  your  power  now,  so  he  speake  his  own 
mouth,  pray  if  you  take  what  I  want,  pray  com  to  me 
because  I  want  go  horn  this  day 

"your  humble  servant 
"JOHN  HOGKINS,  Indian  Sogamon.12 

"may  i6th  1685." 

It  is  very  probable  that  the  mention  of  beaver  skins 
was  the  inducement  which  caused  the  governor  to  notify 
the  Bashaba  of  an  engagement  and  to  tell  him  of  Mr. 
Mason's  position.  Both  Cranfield  and  Mason  knew 
well  what  proposition  Kancamagus  would  make.  The 
Bashaba  had  a  letter  all  prepared  for  his  "worship's" 
consideration,  praying  that,  besides  receiving  protection 
from  the  Maguas,  Cranfield  would  not  have  his  In- 
dians thrown  into  prison  for  imbibing  too  freely  of  the 
"fire-water,"  but  allow  him  (Kancamagus)  to  punish 
them,  which  he  would  surely  do  if  notified  of  their 
drunkenness.13  This  proposal  was  one  not  to  the  liking 
of  the  official;  so  it  seems  that  the  pilgrim  had  his 
long  walk  for  nothing.  Bringing  valuable  gifts  of  furs 
from  Pennacook,  he  was  treated  with  sad  neglect  and 
never  even  given  a  real  hearing.  Such  was  the  Eng- 
lish way  of  accepting  the  friendship  of  a  neighbor  who, 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  86;  see  Files  in  Secretary's  Office, 
N.  H. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  86. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       83 

at  this  time,  was  sincerely  inclined  towards  peace.  It 
is  a  well-proven  fact  that  Cranfield  traveled  as  far 
as  Albany,  N.  Y.,  in  order,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  pur- 
chase peace  with  English  gold,  by  bringing  against  the 
Pennacooks  enough  Mohawks  to  destroy  them.14  Kan- 
camagus, neglected  and  enraged,  went  back  to  his 
people.  Many  writers  think  that  before  this  affair 
his  friendship  with  the  whites  had  been  sincere,15  but 
from  now  on  he  nursed  his  grievances  and  only  awaited 
the  time  when  he  should  drink  from  the  sweet  cup  of 
revenge. 

Gathering  together  all  his  subjects,  he  plunged 
deeper  into  the  wilderness.  Some  of  the  Maine  In- 
dians and  tribes  on  the  seaboard  joined  him.16  The 
Court  became  greatly  alarmed.  The  officials  realized 
that  here  was  a  man  who  would  resent  an  insult.  They 
therefore  sent  messengers  asking  the  reason  of  the 
Pennacooks'  withdrawal.  Kancamagus  sent  back  the 
answer  that  it  was  the  fear  of  the  "Mohogs"  which 
caused  their  flight  to  the  fort.  They  were  then  asked 
why  they  did  not  come  in  and  mingle  with  the  English 
and  thereby  be  protected  by  them.  To  this  the  Ba- 
shaba  answered  that  if  they  did  this  the  Mohawks 
would  hurt  the  English  on  their  account,17  which  of 
course  they  would  not  wish.  At  length  they  were 
persuaded  to  return  and  an  agreement  was  reached. 

"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  84. 

"Compare  Osgood:  White  Mountains,  26;  Potter:  History  of  Man- 
chester, 86. 

18Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition,  133. 
"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  182-3. 


84  Passaconaway 

"Their  chiefs  being  assembled  with  the  council  of 
New  Hampshire  and  a  deputation  from  the  province 
of  Maine,  a  treaty  was  concluded,  wherein  it  was  stip- 
ulated, that  all  future  personal  injuries  on  either  side 
should,  upon  complaint,  be  immediately  redressed; 
that  information  should  be  given  of  approaching  dan- 
ger from  enemies;  that  the  Indians  should  not  remove 
their  families  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  English 
without  giving  timely  notice,  and  if  they  did  that  it 
should  be  taken  as  a  declaration  of  war;  and,  that 
while  these  articles  were  observed,  the  English  would 
assist  and  protect  them  against  the  Mohawks  and  all 
other  enemies."  18  This  treaty  was  apparently  kept 
by  both  sides  until  it  expired,  four  years  later.19  For 
some  reason  the  energetic  Governor  Cranfield  was  re- 
moved and  Walter  Barefoot,  whom  we  find  negotiat- 
ing this  treaty,20  was  unable  to  secure  the  alliance  of 
the  Mohawks. 

In  the  year  1689,  at  the  expiration  of  the  treaty, 
"King  William's  War"  was  declared  between  the 
French  and  the  English  colonists.21  Naturally  this — a 
border  Indian  war — involved  the  Pennacooks.  Kan- 
camagus  had  allied  with  himself  such  noted  warriors 
as  Paugus,  Metambomet,  Mesandowit,  and  Wahowah 
(or  Wahwah).22  This  Wahowah,  sometimes  known 
as  Hope-Hood,  was  a  very  "Indian-rubber  Devil," 


"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  182-3. 
"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  89. 
"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  182-3. 
"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Ed.,  133. 
M Compare  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  90-1. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       85 

capable  of  mischief  of  every  description,  one  who  could 
not  be  killed  or  in  any  way  checked  in  his  bloody 
career,  "a  tiger,  and  one  of  the  most  bloody  warriors 
of  the  age."  23 

As  the  treaty  had  expired,  the  Indians  were  not  dis- 
posed to  form  another  alliance.  They  were  nursing 
their  wrongs.  The  son-in-law  of  Passaconaway  was 
still  a  slave  in  the  Barbadoes;24  the  English  had  de- 
liberately bartered  with  the  Mohawks,  the  natural 
enemies  of  the  Pennacooks;  they  had  treated  the 
Bashaba  with  neglect;  even  now  they  were  hunting 
for  one  of  Kancamagus'  subjects — Hope-Hood — and 
lastly,  although  not  least  by  any  means,  some  of  the 
"strange  Indians"  had  returned  from  slavery  and  were 
raging  for  the  blood  of  their  betrayer.25  Then,  too,  it 
is  highly  probable  that  a  little  urging  on  the  part 
of  the  French  was  not  without  effect.26  Hence,  in  this 
year,  when  the  Andros  government  had  been  wrecked 
by  revolution  and  when  the  governments  of  both  New 
Hampshire  and  Massachusetts  seem  to  have  swayed 
on  their  very  unsteady  foundations,27  we  find  news 
leaking  out  that  Kancamagus  was  "the  principal  enemy 
and  designer"  28  of  a  bloody  plot  against  the  English 
and  that  he  had  threatened  "to  knock  on  the  head 
whosoever  came  to  treat,  whether  English  or  In- 

21  Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Edition,  133. 
24 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  90. 

24 Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  298;  compare  Belknap:  History 
of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Ed.,  133. 
28  Same  reference  in  Belknap. 
"  Same. 
28 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  91-2. 


86  Passaconaway 

dian."  29  Messengers  were  sent  up  to  Pennacook  to 
sieze  Hope-Hood  but  they  were  unsuccessful.30 

In  extenuation  of  the  Pennacooks'  growing  hostility 
to  the  English,  Potter  says:  "What  class  or  nation 
of  whites  at  the  present  time  would  suffer  such  wrongs 
to  go  unavenged!  And  should  we  expect  more  of 
patience  from  the  rude  untutored  Red  Man !"  31  There- 
fore we  must  not  judge  Kancamagus  and  his  warriors 
too  harshly.  In  the  bloody  affair  at  Cocheco  we  shall 
find  the  dusky  avengers  hurting  few,  if  any,  besides 
those  against  whom  they  had  personal  grudges. 

Although  great  secrecy  was  observed,  the  news 
leaked  out,  and  two  friendly  Indians,  Job  Maramas- 
quand  and  Peter  Muckamug,  speedily  carried  it  to  Col. 
Hinchman  and  to  Hon.  Danforth,  of  the  council;  but, 
probably  on  account  of  the  unsettled  condition  of  the 
government  at  the  time,  no  action  was  taken  until  it 
was  too  late.  ("The  friendly  warning  is  said  to  have 
come  from  Wonalancet."  32)  On  the  twenty-seventh 
of  June  a  messenger  was  despatched  to  warn  Waldron 
of  the  proposed  onslaught.  This  messenger  was  un- 
avoidably detained  at  Newbury  Ferry  and  arrived  at 
Dover  on  the  twenty-eighth,  just  after  the  Indians  had 
done  their  work.  33 

Miss  Mary  H.  Wheeler  has  put  into  verse  her  con- 


39  Potter:   History  of  Manchester,   91-2. 

"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  Farmer's  Ed.,  133. 
31  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  90. 

MS.  A.  Drake:  The  Border  Wars  of  New  England,  22,  note. 
88 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  91-3;  New  Hampshire  State  Papers, 
XIX,  319. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       87 

ception  of  the  events  which  transpired  in  the  camp  of 
Kancamagus  on  the  eve  of  the  massacre: 

"WARSONG  OF  KANCAMAGUS  (JUNE,  1689) 

"At  the  old  fort  in  Pennacook 

The  Indian  sachems  met. 
An  insult  had  been  given 

Which  no  red  man  could  forget. 
Sir  Edmund  had  attacked  their  friend 

And  plundered  without  law; 
And  in  the  solemn  Council 

Each  voice  had  been  for  war. 

"Ignoring  former  treaties 

Which  their  allies  ne'er  sustained, 
Of  slight,  and  fraud,  and  falsehood, 

And  unfairness  they  complained. 
Their  mutual  accusations 

Made  a  list  both  dark  and  long, 
And  each  could  well  of  insult  tell, 

And  individual  wrong. 

"The  council  had  declared  for  war, 

And  formal  invitation 
Had  been  to  all  the  warriors  given, 

According  to  their  station. 
And  now,  in  circles  seated, 

With  the  chiefs  and  braves  within 
The  stern-faced  red  man  waited 

For  the  war-dance  to  begin. 

"Then  up  rose  Kancamagus, 

And  ferocious  was  his  air; 
High  up  he  swung  his  hatchet, 

And  his  brawny  arm  was  bare; 
The  eagle's  feather  trembled 
In  his  scalp-lock  as  he  sang, 
And  far  across  the  Merrimac 

The  Indian  war-song  rang. 


88  Passaconaway 

"  'War!  War!     Lift  up  the  hatchet! 

Bring  scalping  knife  and  gun, 
And  give  no  rest  to  foot  or  breast 

Till  warfare  is  begun! 
Look  where  the  braves  are  gathered 

Like  the  clouds  before  a  flood! 
And  Kancamagus'  tomahawk 

Is  all  athirst  for  blood! 

"  'My  fathers  fought  the  Tarratines, 

And  Mohawks  fierce  and  strong, 
And  ever  on  the  war-path 

Their  whoop  was  loud  and  long. 
And  Kancamagus'  daring 

And  feats  of  vengeance  bold, 
Among  the  Amariscoggins 

Have  been  full  often  told. 

"  'Will  the  warrior's  arm  be  weaker, 

And  will  his  courage  fail, 
When  in  grounds  well  known  he  shall 

strike  his  own, 
And  his  people's  foe  assail? 
Will  the  son  of  Nanamocomuck 
Stand  trembling  like  a  squaw 
When  the  Sagamons  around  him 
Are  all  hungering  for  war? 

"  'War!  War!    The  foe  are  sleeping, 

And  the  scent  of  blood  is  sweet, 
And  the  woods  about  Cocheco 

Await  the  warrior's  feet! 
From  silent  ambush  stealing 

We  will  capture,  slay,  and  burn, 
Till  those  plundering,  cheating  English 

Shall  the  red  man's  vengeance  learn ! 

"  'The  chiefs  about  Piscataqua 

Refused  my  proffered  hand; 
The  bad  whites  at  Cocheco 
By  treachery  took  our  band. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       89 

They  treated  us  like  reptiles, 

But  the  red  man's  day  is  nigh; 
On  Kancamagus'  wigwam  pole 

Their  bloody  scalps  may  dry!'  "  34 

Two  squaws  appeared  at  Major  Waldron's  block- 
house and  applied  for  permission  to  sleep  there.35  As 
such  hospitality  seems  to  have  been  a  common  custom, 
no  objections  were  offered.  Two  squaws  were  also 
unsuspectingly  admitted  into  each  of  the  houses  of 
Heard,  Otis,  and  the  elder  Coffin.  Before  retiring  the 
families,  upon  request,  showed  the  squaws  how  to  open 
the  gates,  in  case  they  should  wish  to  leave  in  the 
night.  Mesandowit,  a  chief  very  friendly  to  the 
whites,  was  accustomed  to  sup  frequently  with  Major 
Waldron.  On  this  fateful  evening  he  was  a  guest  at 
the  trader's  table.  During  the  meal  the  chieftain  al- 
luded to  the  numerous  Indians  about  Dover  and  said: 
"Major  Waldron,  what  would  you  do  if  the  strange 
Indians  should  come?"  "I  could  assemble  an  hundred 
men  by  lifting  up  my  finger,"  carelessly  replied  the 
Major.36  Having  done  his  duty  as  a  friend,  the  Indian, 
not  wishing  to  further  betray  his  kinsmen,  said  no 
more.  The  unwary  Waldron  retired,  as  was  his  cus- 

"Mary  H.  Wheeler,  in  Granite  Monthly,  vol.  III. 

35  Substance  of  the  following  account  is  from  A.  H.  Quint:  Historical 
Mem.  no.  Ill;  New  Hampshire  Provincial  Papers,  vol.  II,  49;  Potter: 
History  of  Manchester,  93-7;  Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  298-9; 
Drake:  The  Border  Wars  of  New  England,  14-26;  Belknap:  History  of 
New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  199-202;  see  also  Charlton:  New  Hampshire 
as  It  Is,  40-1,  186-7;  Bodge:  King  Philip's  War,  315-317. 

38 A.  H.  Quint:  Historical  Mem.  no.  Ill;  Drake:  Indians  of  North 
America,  299. 


90  Passaconaway 

torn,  without  posting  a  watch. 

As  darkness  fell  and  the  lights  in  the  different  houses 
began  to  disappear  one  by  one,  the  camp  of  the  red 
man  also  quieted  down  and  one  might  have  thought 
it  deserted.  In  fact,  the  warriors  had  silently  with- 
drawn to  the  woods.  As  midnight  approached,  dusky 
forms  crept  up  to  Cocheco's  stockade.  Suddenly  a 
gentle  creaking  was  heard,  then  heavy  timbers  seemed 
to  jar;  farther  and  still  farther  down  the  tiny  village 
the  same  sound  was  heard.  The  hour  had  arrived. 
Crouching  Indians  sprang  up  from  their  hiding-places 
and  rushed  through  the  open  gates,  leaving  a  guard 
stationed  at  the  entrance,  however. 

Richard  Waldron's  judgment-day  had  arrived. 
Never  again  would  he  defraud  Indians  or  horsewhip 
Quakers.37  Against  the  Major,  that  unscrupulous  and 
deceitful  trader,  was  the  Indian  vengeance  chiefly 
aimed.  Through  the  ponderous  doors  of  his  block- 
house a  bloodthirsty  band  sped.  Up  the  stairs  and  into 
the  trader's  sleeping-apartment  rushed  the  Indians. 
Waldron,  although  over  eighty  years  old,  with  sword 
in  hand,  rushed  desperately  upon  the  invaders.  His 
counter-attack  was  so  fierce  that  he  actually  drove 
them  through  two  or  three  chambers.  Then  he  ran 
back  to  his  chamber  for  his  pistols.  But  in  this  re- 
treat he  was  overtaken  and  stunned  by  a  blow  from  the 
flat  of  a  tomahawk.  Binding  him,  Kancamagus'  men 
placed  him  in  a  large  arm-chair  upon  the  dining-table. 
Taunting  cries  of  "Who  shall  judge  Indians  now?"  38 

**  See  Rufus  Jones:  Quakers  in  American  Colonies,  105. 
33  A.  H.  Quint. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       91 

echoed  and  re-echoed  through  the  spacious  halls. 
Then  the  exulting  Indians  sat  down  and  feasted,  com- 
pelling the  family  to  serve  them  a  supper.  Having 
finished  their  meal,  they  arose,  and,  forming  a  line, 
marched  round  and  round  the  table,  jeering  and  hoot- 
ing at  their  long-hated  victim.  During  this  march 
each  Indian  slashed  his  knife  across  the  naked  breast 
of  the  gigantic  trader,  exclaiming,  "I  cross  out  my 
account  with  Major  Waldron !"  and,  "Now,  will  your 
fist  weigh  a  pound?"39  The  sight  of  flowing  blood 
seemed  to  redouble  the  ferocity  of  the  captors.  They 
sliced  off  Waldron's  ears  and  nose  and  brutally  forced 
these  into  his  mouth.  At  length,  fainting  from  loss  of 
blood,  Waldron  began  to  topple  over,  whereupon  one 
of  the  Indians  held  the  Major's  own  sword  so  that,  as 
he  fell,  it  ran  him  through,  thereby  putting  an  end  to 
his  terrible  sufferings.  To  quote  the  old  poem,  "The 
Winter  Evening,"  again: 

"Each  one  exclaimed,  '/'//  cut  out  my  account.' 
Then  spear,  or  tomahawk,  with  vengeful  rife, 

Gashed  in,  as  if  'twere  of  a  large  amount; 
And  thus  they  held  the  cruel,  bloody  strife, 
And  practiced  on  the  famous  Waldron's  life. 

One  cut  him  on  the  breast,  one  on  the  head, 

One  through  the  arm  run  his  long,  glistening  knife, 

And  o'er  his  sable  coat,  the  goar  was  streaming  red. 

"The  lightning  glances  faded  from  his  eye, 
Down  from  his  looks  the  living  spirit  fell, 

E'en  the  dark  foemen  trembled  to  see  him  die, 
While  round  their  feet,  as  from  a  gushing  well, 
They  viewed  the  torrents  from  his  bosom  swell. 
"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  299. 


92  Passaconaway 

No  sigh,  no  groan,  no  tear-drop  found  its  way, 

All  calmly  from  its  earthly  citadel, 
'Its  broken  walls  and  tenements  of  clay.' 

The  spirit  took  its  flight  far  to  the  realms  of  day."  40 

But  this  did  not  end  the  carnage.  Parties  of  the 
invaders  fell  upon  each  of  the  other  houses.  The 
garrison  of  Otis,  a  partner  of  Waldron,  was  taken  in 
the  same  way  as  was  the  Major's.  After  the  fray 
Otis  was  found  dead  in  his  chamber;  some  think  that 
he  was  shot  while  getting  out  of  bed;  others  that  he 
met  his  death  while  peering  out  of  his  window.  His 
son  and  a  daughter  (Hannah),  a  child  of  two  years 
old,  also  perished.  The  latter's  brains  were  dashed 
out  against  the  stairs.  Kancamagus  captured  the  wife 
and  infant  of  Otis  and  the  two  children  of  Stephen, 
his  son.  Three  daughters  of  the  elder  Otis's  family 
were  taken,  but,  at  Conway,  the  party  was  surprised 
and  these  captives  were  set  free. 

The  case  was  different  at  Heard's  house.  Just  as 
the  redskins  were  entering,  a  youth,  William  Went- 
wjirlli,  being  awakened  by  a  dog,  rushed  upon  them 
and,  by  a  Herculean  effort,  pushed  the  invaders  out  and 
slammed  the  door  in  their  faces.  By  lying  upon  his 
back,  he  was  able  so  to  brace  himself  as  to  hold  the 
door  against  them,  until  assistance  arrived.  The  In- 
dians shot  through  the  door  twice,  but  probably  they 
fired  too  high  to  hit  Wentworth,  for  he  still  persisted 
unharmed  until  help  came  and  the  door  was  barred. 

In  the  capture  of  the  elder  Coffin's  house,  they  en- 

40 The  Winter  Evening;  Farmer  and  Moore;  Historical  Collections, 
vol.  II,  83-93. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       93 

countered  little  opposition.  But,  as  these  "blood- 
thirsty savages"  bore  no  grudge  against  him,  they  lim- 
ited their  mischief  to  making  him  scatter  coins  by  the 
handful  from  a  bag  they  found  there,  while,  child- 
like, the  Indians  "scrambled"  for  them.  The  night 
before,  Coffin,  the  son,  had  refused  the  squaws  admit- 
tance, so  the  red  men  were  barred  from  his  house. 
But  the  Indians  led  forth  his  father  and,  by  threaten- 
ing to  murder  him  in  full  view  of  the  garrison,  finally 
gained  admittance.  These  newly-surrendered  captives 
were  placed  in  a  small  vacant  building  and  were  left 
unguarded.  In  the  excitement  they  all  escaped. 

Amidst  these  bloody  scenes  a  young  woman,  who 
had  once  done  an  Indian  a  kindness,  took  her  child 
and  ran  to  the  woods  for  cover.  A  fierce  warrior, 
perceiving  her,  pursued  her.  Upon  discovering,  in  the 
semi-darkness,  who  she  was,  a  smile  flickered  for  an 
instant  over  his  countenance  and  he  left  her  un- 
harmed.41 

The  details  of  the  other  garrisons  are  not  known. 
In  this  one  night  there  were  twenty-three  persons  slain 
and  twenty-five  made  captives.  In  all,  six  houses  were 
burned,  including  that  of  Waldron,  and  the  mill  upon 
the  lower  fall.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  not  one 
of  the  trader's  family  except  the  Major  himself  was 
harmed.  This  shows  that,  though  terrible  in  revenge, 
the  savage  could  discriminate.  Even  amidst  the 
bloodiest  scenes  he  would  not  harm  one  who,  perhaps 
years  before,  had  done  him  or  a  friend  a  kindness. 

Of  course  this  terrible  onslaught,   although   small 

"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  202. 


94  Passaconaway 

numbers  were  involved,  coming  as  it  did  out  of  an 
almost  clear  sky,  was  a  heavy  blow  to  the  English.  The 
fact  that  the  prisoners  were  on  their  way  to  Canada 
seems  to  indicate  that  the  French  knew  of  the  affair 
and  that  there  was  trouble  ahead.  The  English  could 
find  no  sufficient  explanation  or  cause  for  such  an  on- 
slaught. "It  was  a  most  unexpected,  unwarranted  and 
savage  outbreak,"  said  the  wise  ones.  Evidently  they 
were  unaware  that  thirteen  years  ago — a  savage  re- 
members as  far  back  as  that — these  very  Indians  had 
been  betrayed  and  sold  into  slavery,  shot  in  broad  day- 
light by  malicious  whites,  plundered,  robbed  and  un- 
justly imprisoned,  yet  there  was  "no  sufficient  cause" ! 

The  Indians  must  be  punished.  Such  bloody  deeds, 
when  there  is  no  open  enmity  against  the  whites  as  in 
this  case,  shall  be  avenged.  There  shall  be  no  mercy 
shown  these  terrible  heathen.  A  war  of  extermination 
shall  be  waged  against  this  pestiferous  vermin.  Hence 
Captain  Church  is  speedily  despatched  to  Pennacook. 
He  will  show  these  savages  the  power  of  British  law. 
Upon  reaching  Pennacook  he  finds  the  empty  shell  of 
the  fort  and  some  small  patches  of  corn.  These  he 
immediately  confiscates,  but  the  "great  Indian  fighter" 
can  discover  not  a  single  redskin,  for  some  are  hidden, 
others  scattered  up  and  down  the  Merrimac,  eking  out 
a  miserable  existence,  but  Kancamagus  and  the  ma- 
jority of  his  elated  warriors  are  making  a  speedy  march 
to  the  amicable  French. 

The  following  September  Captain  Church  surprised 
and  captured  the  fort  upon  the  Amariscoggin  River. 
In  it  were  found  Kancamagus's  wife  and  children,  his 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       95 

brother-in-law  and  his  wife,  together  with  several 
"squaws  and  papooses."  For  considerable  time  this 
fort  had  been  known  as  Worombo's  Fort  and  had  been 
a  rendezvous  for  the  fugitives.  In  the  struggle  which 
ensued,  Kancamagus's  sister  and  daughter  were  slain 
and  the  rest  made  prisoners.42  A  short  time  after, 
the  wily  brother-in-law  escaped.  This  affair  seems  to 
have  enraged  the  chief,  for  at  Casco  Kancamagus  and 
Worombo  fell  upon  the  whites  with  terrible  fury, 
although  the  latter  were  numerically  superior.  The 
redskins  were  at  length  repulsed,  but  they  had  struck 
their  blow  and  seven  whites  lay  lifeless  on  the  ground. 
Twenty-four  more  were  wounded,  while  evidently  the 
Indian  losses  were  slight.43 

As  a  sort  of  "civilized"  revenge  for  this  attack, 
Church's  men  proposed  to  butcher  their  captives.  But, 
luckily,  two  women  captives,  whom  Kancamagus  had 
treated  kindly  and  who  were  living  at  Worombo's 
Fort  at  the  time  of  its  seizure,  interceded,  saying  that 
Kancamagus  had  several  whites  in  his  power  and  in 
retaliation  would  surely  slay  these.  They  also  pro- 
posed an  exchange  of  prisoners.  Therefore,  leaving 
two  aged  squaws  to  negotiate  with  Kancamagus,  and 
after  destroying  a  little  corn,  Church's  soldiers  re- 
traced their  steps.44  We  find  that  it  was  in  this  year 
that  Hope-Hood,  "the  tiger,"  met  a  fate  similar  to 
that  of  "Stonewall"  Jackson  in  later  years;  that  is,  his 
own  men,  mistaking  him  for  an  enemy,  fired  upon  and 

42  Drake :  Indians  of  North  America,  300. 

43  Compare  New  Hampshire  State  Papers,  vol.  XIX,  319-320. 
"Compare  Church:  Philip's  War,  53. 


96  Passaconaway 

killed  him.  This  loss  seems  to  have  taken  the  heart 
out  of  the  fiery  and  vengeful  Kancamagus.45 

In  May,  1691,  Kancamagus,  Worombo,  and  eight 
other  "Chief  Sagamons"  entered  the  Wells  Garrison 
under  a  flag  of  truce  to  treat  for  peace.46  Here  they 
exchanged  their  prisoners,  of  which  the  Indians  had 
at  least  four  score,  for  those  taken  by  Church's  band. 
They  made  the  treaty  known  as  the  "Truce  of  Sackate- 
hock,"  which  lasted  just  a  year.  Before  delivering  up 
the  Indian  prisoners,  Captain  Andras  made  them  all 
promise,  three  times,  that  they  never  would  fight 
against  the  English.47 

The  power  of  the  Pennacooks  was  now  shattered, 
the  warriors  were  scattered.  The  tribe  was  broken 
up  into  groups  of  poverty-stricken  wanderers.  Most  of 
them  either  went  under  the  name  of  Merrimacs,  or 
took  refuge  in  Canada,  at  Saint  Francis.48  Perhaps 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  the  Saint  Francis  In- 
dians soon  became  noted  as  the  bitterest  foes  of  the 
English  colonies.  And  they  continued  to  be  so  until 
the  fall  of  the  French  power  in  America.  Their  de- 
scendants to  this  day  may  be  found  at  Saint  Francis.49 

There  were  a  few  more  instances  in  which  we  find 
the  name  of  Pennacook  and  Kancamagus  appearing. 
The  first  of  these  was  the  attack  on  Haverill,  a  year 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  302. 

44 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  97. 

"Church:  Philip's  War,  64. 

"New  Hampshire  State  Papers,  vol.  XIX,  320;  vol.  XXIV;  Town 
Charters,  vol.  I,  56-7;  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  97. 

^Flagg:  Bureau  of  Ethnology  Bull.  30,  part  II,  225,  Handbook  of 
American  Indians. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       97 

after  the  "Truce  of  Sackatehock,"  which  truce  had 
expired  in  1692.  We  have  very  authoritative  evi- 
dence that  in  this  foray  several  of  the  now  "Merri- 
macs,"  formerly  "Pennacooks"  of  the  Kancamagus 
jurisdiction,  took  part.  A  captive,  Isaac  Bradley,  tes- 
tified later  that  many  of  these  raiders  belonged  to  the 
Saco  and  Pennacook  tribes.  Possibly  the  warlike 
Bashaba  himself  had  a  hand  in  the  affair.50 

When  Dudley  visited  Casco,  in  June  20,  1703,  he 
held  a  conference  with  delegates  representing  several 
tribes,  the  Pennacook  among  others.  The  red  men  in- 
formed him  that  "as  high  as  the  sun  is  above  the 
earth,  so  far  distant  was  their  design  of  making  the 
least  breach  of  the  peace."  51  They  presented  him  with 
a  belt  of  wampum,  after  which  both  parties  went  to 
the  "Two  Brothers"  (two  large  piles  of  stones),  upon 
which  they  threw  more  stones,  thereby  strengthening 
the  existing  friendship.  Yet,  six  weeks  later,  they  were 
taking  part  in  "Queen  Anne's  War."  52 

From  now  on,  we  find  the  Pennacooks,  or  the  more 
mettlesome  of  them,  making  insignificant  raids  upon 
the  English.53  Their  great  confederacy  had  ceased  to 
exist.  As  we  have  said,  they  now  made  their  head- 
quarters at  Saint  Francis.  The  French  doubtless  fitted 
out  these  expeditions  and  the  bounty  they  offered  the 
redskins  was  a  great  temptation. 

"New  Hampshire  State  Papers,  vol.  XXIV;  Town  Charters,  I, 
56-7. 

"Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  I,  264. 
BSThe  same,  vol.  I,  264. 
"The  same,  vol.  II,  195. 


98  Passaconaivay 

Says  Belknap,  referring  to  the  Boston  Evening  Post 
of  July  28,  1747:  "At  Pennacook,  a  party  of  the 
enemy  discovered"  (disclosed)  "themselves  by  firing 
at  some  cattle.  They  were  pursued  by  fifty  men;  and 
retreated  with  such  precipitation  as  to  leave  their  packs 
and  blankets  with  other  things  behind."  54  Twelve 
years  later,  when  Major  Rogers  and  his  famous 
Rangers  attacked  and  pillaged  the  village  of  Saint 
Francis,  they  found  six  hundred  scalps  hanging  from 
the  different  Indian  scalp-posts  in  the  town.55  Doubt- 
less twenty-three  of  these  had  come  from  Cocheco, 
while  many  others  were  tokens  of  the  prowess  of  Kan- 
camagus  and  his  followers.  With  the  destruction  of 
Saint  Francis,  the  tribal  history  of  the  Pennacooks 
ended.  They  had  turned  from  the  peaceful  path 
shown  them  by  Passaconaway,  and  had  staked  their 
all  on  the  tomahawk  and  musket.  "They  that  take 
the  sword  shall  perish  with  the  sword."  56  It  was  ever 
thus,  as  the  downfall  of  mighty  military  nations  at- 
tests. "Thus  the  aboriginal  inhabitants,  who  held  the 
lands  of  New  Hampshire  as  their  own,  have  been  swept 
away.  Long  and  valiantly  did  they  contend  for  the 
inheritance  bequeathed  to  them  by  their  fathers,  but 
fate  had  decided  against  them  and  it  was  all  in  vain. 
With  bitter  feelings  of  unavailing  regret,  the  Indian 
looked  for  the  last  time  upon  the  happy  places  where 
for  ages  his  ancestors  had  lived  and  loved,  rejoiced 
and  wept,  and  passed  away,  to  be  known  no  more  for- 

54 Belknap:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  II,  195. 
"Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  51. 
58  Matt.  26:52. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account       99 

ever."  67 

At  the  western  extremity  of  the  Passaconaway,  Al- 
bany, or  Swift  River,  Intervale,  between  Mt.  Tripyra- 
mid  and  Mt.  Huntington,  lies  a  long,  low  mountain, 
bearing  the  name  of  the  conquerer  of  Dover — Kan- 
camagus. Sweetser  describes  it  as  "a  bold  wooded 
ridge  which  may  be  ascended  by  the  way  of  the  Flume 
Brook."  58  The  Swift  River  Trail  of  the  Appalachian 
Mountain  Club  and  the  American  Institute  of  Instruc- 
tion Path,  sometimes  known  as  the  Livermore  Path, 
cross  the  northern  shoulder  of  Kancamagus,  as  I  shall 
state  more  in  detail  in  a  coming  chapter.  The  view 
from  the  summit  of  Kancamagus  is  not  worth  the 
climb.59  Instead  of  wasting  strength  and  breath  in 
scrambling  up  the  wooded  steeps  of  Mt.  Kancamagus, 
I  prefer  to  lie  comfortably  in  my  sailor  hammock  on 
the  piazza  of  our  cottage,  "Score-o'-Peaks,"  and  study 
the  distant  undulating  sky-line  of  said  mountain,  think- 
ing of  the  dusky  warrior  whose  name  it  bears.  From 
the  mountain  my  mind  travels  down  to  Dover,  where 
flame  and  blood  and  midnight  shrieks  mingle  in  a 
scene  of  confusion  and  death.  Thence,  again,  mem- 
ory once  more  takes  up  its  journey,  following  the  foot- 
steps of  an  exile  chief,  northward  and  eastward  until 
the  trail  disappears  in  oblivion.  How  and  when  Kan- 
camagus died  we  know  not.  But  his  life  story,  at  best, 
was  a  pathetic  one.  His  gory  deeds  at  Cocheco  have 

57  Coolidge  and  Mansfield :  History  and  Description  of  New  Eng- 
land, New  Hampshire  vol.,  404. 
""Osgood:  White  Mountains,  1880  edition,  322. 
59  The  same. 


ioo  Passaconaway 

been  softened  down  by  the  pencil  of  time.  Even  the 
white  man  now  admits  that  there  was  great  provoca- 
tion. And  no  one  can  deny  that  greed  and  injustice 
and  cruelty  and  treachery  only  received  their  just  desert 
when  the  Indians  "crossed  out  their  account  with  Major 
Waldron." 

In  recording  the  story  of  the  Pennacook  chieftains, 
we  are  dealing  not  only  with  historic  men,  but  with 
men  of  large  caliber  and  ability.  One  historian  says: 
"Passaconaway,  Wonalancet,  and  Kancamagus  were 
all  of  them  men  of  more  than  ordinary  power;  equal 
in  mental  vigor,  physical  proportions,  and  moral  qual- 
ities to  any  of  their  white  contemporaries."  60  Of  Kan- 
camagus Judge  Potter  discriminatingly  affirms:  "Kan- 
camagus was  a  brave  and  politic  Chief,  and  in  view  of 
what  he  accomplished,  at  the  head  of  a  mere  remnant 
of  a  once  powerful  tribe,  it  may  be  considered  a  most 
fortunate  circumstance  for  the  English  colonists  that 
he  was  not  at  the  head  of  the  tribe  at  an  earlier  period, 
before  it  had  been  shorn  of  its  strength,  during  the 
old  age  of  Passaconaway  and  the  peaceful  and  inactive 
reign  of  Wonalancet.  And  even  had  Kancamagus 
succeeded  to  the  Sagamonship  ten  years  earlier  than 
he  did,  so  that  his  acknowledged  abilities  for  coun- 
sel and  war  could  have  been  united  with  those  of  Philip, 
history  might  have  chronicled  another  story  than  the 
inglorious  death  of  the  Sagamon  of  Mount  Hope,  in 
the  swamp  of  Pokanoket;  or  the  success  of  his  re- 
nowned conqueror,  Major  Church."  61  Such  medita- 

60 Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  27. 
81  Potter :  History  of  Manchester,  97. 


How  Kancamagus  Crossed  out  the  Account     ioi/v 

tions  as  these  run  through  our  mind  as  the  hammock 
swings  in  the  west  wind  which  comes  sweeping  down 
upon  us  straight  from  the  blue  ridge  of  Mt.  Kan- 
camagus.62 

62  The  altitude  of  Mt.  Kancamagus,  according  to  the  U.  S.  Geol. 
Survey  map,  is  3,700  feet.  The  A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  Paths  in  the 
White  Mountains  (page  305)  gives  it  as  3,724  feet. 


CHAPTER  V 
PASSACONAWAY'S  PYRAMID 

MSS  LUCY  LARCOM  bestowed  the  name  of  the 
greatest  Bashaba  upon  the  loftiest,  wildest,  yet 
most  symmetrical,  most  awe-inspiring  mountain  of  the 
Sandwich  Range.  She  also  gave  Indian  names  to  other 
peaks  of  this  southmost  range  of  the  Crystal  Hills, 
namely,  Paugus,  Wonalancet,  and  the  Wahwah  Hills. 
But  head  and  shoulders  above  these,  old  Passacona- 
way  lifts  its  head,  monarch  of  all.1  As  in  life  he  loomed 
in  pre-eminence  high  above  his  tribesmen,  so  now, 
nearly  two  and  a  half  centuries  after  his  translation, 
his  mountain  lifts  its  head  in  solemn  pride. 

With  its  smoothly  sloping  and  in  places  almost  per- 
pendicular sides,  it  tapers  up  to  a  lofty,  often  cloud- 
wreathed,  dome,2  gracefully  holding  itself  in  proud 
aloofness  from  its  inferior  comrades.  Chocorua  is  pic- 
turesque— many  consider  it  the  most  picturesque  moun- 
tain in  New  Hampshire — but  Passaconaway  is  grand, 
awe-inspiring,  a  huge  monarch  and  leader  of  this  south- 
ern herd  of  blue  elephants;  the  challenging  trumpeter 
of  the  herd.8 

To  this  sovereign  do  the  storm  demons  seem  to 

^sgood:  White  Mountains,  337. 
2  Same. 

8  Compare  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  271. 
102 


Passaconaway' s  Pyramid  103 

look  for  orders,  and  to  old  Passaconaway's  countenance 
do  the  natives  of  our  valley  turn  for  their  weather  fore- 
casts. For,  not  until  this  huge  sentinel,  guarding  us 
from  the  southern  tempests,  has  covered  his  face,  will 
he  let  the  storm  wreak  its  fury  on  our  valley.  No 
matter  how  dark  and  threatening  the  sky,  the  southern 
storms  do  not  dare  to  touch  us  until  Passaconaway 
veils  his  face  in  cloud.  "Uncle  Jim"  Shackford, 
for  years  the  proprietor  of  the  Passaconaway  House, 
used  to  say,  when  his  opinion  was  asked  on  a  threat- 
ening day:  "Waal,  I  gorry,  I  dunno;  it  may  rain  and 
it  may  not,  but  when  old  Passaconaway  puts  on  his 
night-cap  it's  time  to  run  for  shelter." 

This  massive  peak,  with  face  far  up  among  the 
clouds,  is,  from  the  southern  side,  almost  a  perfect  cone 
with  a  somewhat  blunted  and  rounded  apex.  Often 
have  I  wondered  how  vegetation  and  huge  trees  could 
cling  to  such  precipitous  sides.  A  thick,  black,  almost 
impenetrable  growth  of  tall  spruces  and  pines  com- 
pletely covers  this  gigantic  pile  of  rock.  Because  of  its 
great  height  and  heavily  wooded,  well-rounded  dome, 
it  may  easily  be  distinguished  from  distant  points  in  all 
directions.  The  top  of  Passaconaway  is  4,200  feet 
(according  to  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  p.  326,  84  feet  less) 
above  sea  level.  From  summit  to  field  Passaconaway 
is  over  three  thousand  feet  in  altitude ; 4  on  its  southern 
side  it  falls  almost  perpendicularly  for  seventeen  hun- 
dred feet;  while  on  the  northwestern  slope  the  steep 
drop  is  only  about  seven  hundred.5 

*See  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  155. 
5Chas.  E.  Fay  in  Appalachia,  vol.  VI. 


IO4  Passaconaway 

As  already  said,  the  view  of  the  mountain  from  its 
southern  side  presents  only  one  rounded  peak;  while 
three  distinct  promontories  are  visible  from  our  north- 
eastern, or  Swift  River,  side.  The  central  of  these, 
the  true  summit,  is  a  lofty,  wood-covered  knob,  only  a 
few  feet  higher  than  the  other  two. 

Lying  at  the  eastern  base,  the  groveling  Paugus  re- 
poses far  below,  and  through  the  pass  between  the 
two  runs  the  "Old  Mast  Road."  A  very  unique  spur 
of  this  monarch  of  the  range  is  found  here. 
From  the  Mast  Road  trail  which  leads  from  the  town 
road  in  Albany  "Intervale  through  the  valley  to  the 
hamlet  of  Wonalancet,  a  towering  cliff,  known  as 
Square  Ledge,  may  be  seen.  Square  Ledge  is  a  gigan- 
tic scarred  face  of  perpendicular  ledge.  There  is  a 
long,  low  ridge,  artistically  dipping  and  gently  rising 
at  its  eastern  end,  until,  at  this  spur,  it  drops  perpendic- 
ularly. Square  Ledge  appears  to  have  been  cleft  off, 
sharply  and  squarely,  as  if  some  Indian  Deity  or  some 
giant  had  sawn  vertically  downwards  until  the  ridge 
had  been  sawed  off,  as  if  endeavoring  to  get  a  cross- 
section  of  this  hill,  and,  being  satisfied,  had  carried  off 
the  eastern  half.  Such  a  sight  well  repays  one  for  the 
two-mile  walk  through  the  once  beautiful  woods. 
This  great  "jump-off"  is  clearly  seen  from  the  town 
road  at  Mrs.  Colbath's,  or,  better  still,  from  a  point  a 
few  rods  west,  where  the  railroad  crossed  the  town 
road. 

Passaconaway  appears  at  its  best  from  our  little 
valley  at  the  extreme  west  end  of  the  "Great  Inter- 
vale." The  three  peaks  are  set  regularly  apart,  and 


Passaconaway's  Pyramid  105 

the  middle  one  rises  just  enough  above  the  others  to 
give  the  mountain  the  appearance  of  a  darkly  draped 
head  and  shoulders.  Then,  too,  there  is  the  long 
graceful  slide,  showing  white  and  shiny  from  beneath 
the  dark  coat.  This  is  the  laundered  shirt-bosom  of 
the  great  Bashaba's  dress  suit.  Especially  is  this  notice- 
able when,  on  a  moonlight  evening,  one  sees  the  inky 
black  form,  with  overcoat  carelessly  thrown  over  the 
shoulders,  the  clear-cut  outlines  of  the  monarch  stand- 
ing out  against  the  star-studded  sky,  and  the  pale  moon 
shining  upon  the  now  glistening  white  granite  slide 
as  upon  a  smooth  and  jeweled  shirt-front.  This  is 
very  striking  in  winter,  too,  when  the  slide  is  coated 
with  spotless  snow  and  edged  with  dark  spruces.  In 
the  case  of  this  mountain,  instead  of  being  a  horrible, 
ugly  scar,  the  great  slide  seems  to  add  contrast,  beauty 
and  fineness  of  line  to  what  otherwise  might  be  a  vast 
unbroken  stretch  of  dark  bluish  green  forest. 

Still  gazing  upon  the  mountain  from  the  north,  Pas- 
saconaway  appears  surrounded  by  a  band  of  loyal  re- 
tainers, Potash,  Whiteface,  and  Hedgehog.  These 
peaks  give  it  a  more  haughty  and  grand  appearance 
than  perhaps  from  any  other  viewpoint.  On  the  north- 
most  promontory,  and  on  the  path  up  from  our  val- 
ley, several  precipitous  ledges  are  seen.  These  afford 
to  climbers  famous  lookouts. 

There  are  three  different  ways  of  climbing  Passacon- 
away;  from  Birch  Intervale,  or  Wonalancet;  from 
Whiteface,  by  the  lofty  ridge ;  and  from  our  Passacon- 
away  or  Swift  River  Valley,  by  way  of  the  slide.  At 
best  they  are  all  "up-hill  sidewalks."  Hence  none  but 


io6  Passaconaway 

the  strong  should  attempt  the  climb.6  Let  us  ascend 
from  Passaconaway.  A  cool  and  charming  little  walk 
of  perhaps  two  miles  up  the  musical  Downes  Brook 
will  take  us  to  the  foot  of  the  slide.  On  our  way,  about 
half  a  mile  from  the  town  road,  is  a  deserted  lumber 
camp.  In  the  winter  of  1914-1915  this  camp  was  in 
full  swing,  but  now  it  lies  half  tumbled  down,  for  the 
lumber-jacks  have  gone. 

Here,  only  last  summer  (1915),  while  leisurely 
strolling  down  the  lumber  road,  we  made  the  acquain- 
tance of  a  big  Canadian  lynx.  First,  his  bewhiskered 
nose  appeared  on  the  left  side  of  the  path;  next  his 
long  tasselled  ears  came  into  sight;  and  presently  he 
was  standing,  face  on,  directly  in  the  road  ahead,  in 
full  view.  Not  wishing  in  any  way  to  irritate  his 
pussyship,  and  yet  hoping  that  he  would  make  his  de- 
cision promptly — lest  we  should  be  forced  to  assume 
the  responsibility  of  deciding — we  slowed  down  our 
pace  almost  to  a  standstill.  Much  to  our  relief,  after 
sizing  us  up  as  too  sour,  green,  bony  or  tough  to 
waste  his  time  on,  the  great  cat  crossed  the  road  and 
disappeared  behind  a  log.  The  old  rascal  probably 
thought  that,  with  the  log  between  us,  he  would  be 
hidden  from  our  sight;  but  not  so,  for  we  could  see 
his  tasselled  ears,  his  powerful  tawny  shoulders,  and 
once  in  a  while  his  back  and  bob-tail,  as  he  leisurely 
climbed  up  the  little  embankment.  A  moment  later 
our  new  acquaintance  had  vanished. 

We  cross  on  our  trail  several  old,  beautiful,  little 
corduroy  bridges.  Over  one  of  these  a  thickly  leaved 

'See  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  337. 


Passaconaway's  Pyramid  107 

tree  hangs,  artistically  screening  the  opposite  bank  from 
our  gaze.  The  winding  path  reveals  innumerable  spots 
of  beauty  to  the  aesthetic  climber.  At  length  some 
broad  white  ledges,  over  which  a  tiny  rill  plays,  are 
seen  shining  through  the  leafy  partition.  Looking  up 
the  mountainside  through  the  trees,  we  see,  in  some 
places,  the  brook  spreading  out  and,  in  a  broad  sheet 
of  water,  flowing  over  a  ledge;  in  others,  narrowing 
to  a  mere  shining  ribbon ;  and,  at  still  others,  tumbling 
over  or  eddying  round  boulders,  here  lying  in  a  silent 
little  pool,  there  rushing  through  a  rocky  channel. 
Pressing  through  the  thin  curtain  of  foliage,  we  look 
up  over  the  foot  of  the  slide,  which  came  to  a  stand- 
still in  the  bed  of  the  Downes,  and  see  a  series  of  rocky 
ledges  gradually  rising  one  above  another.  While 
approaching  the  foot  of  the  slide,  we  notice  how  rocky 
the  brook-bed  is.  In  some  places  large  boulders  have 
been  rolled  over  and  over,  until  finally  brought  to 
rest  a  half  mile  or  more  below  the  junction  of  the  slide 
with  the  Downes  Brook.  It  is  very  noticeable  for  quite 
a  distance  before  the  slide  is  reached.  The  natives 
say  that  for  a  mile  the  rocks  and  boulders  rolled  with 
thunderous  booming  down  the  tiny  brook-bed  on  that 
fateful  November  night  in  the  early  1 890*8. 

Running  parallel  with  the  lower  half  of  the  slide,  up 
as  far  as  the  turn  in  the  slide,  is  a  tote-road,  only  a 
few  rods  to  the  west.  Even  by  this  road  the  climb  is 
arduous  enough,  but  nothing  as  compared  with  what 
the  trip  used  to  be  when  the  trail  was  the  ledgy  brook- 
bed.  The  road  rises  at  an  angle  of  from  twenty  to 
thirty-five  degrees,  and  is  gullied  by  scores  of  tiny 


io8  Passaconaway 

brook-beds  and  washouts,  making  the  walking  difficult 
in  some  places.  Still  this  way  of  walking  half  the  dis- 
tance from  the  hotel  on  a  lumber  road  is  far  easier 
than  the  former  way  of  leaping  from  stone  to  stone 
up  a  couple  of  miles  of  brook-bed.  Well  do  I  recall 
when,  a  four-year-old  boy,  I  was  taken  on  this  trip 
by  my  parents.  A  strong,  fatherly  hand  every  now 
and  then  grasped  the  suspenders  of  my  little  overalls 
and  I  was  swung  across  from  rock  to  rock  over  rapids 
too  wide  for  me  to  jump.  How  tickled  I  was  if  only, 
upon  landing  on  a  rock,  my  foot  would  slip  off  into 
the  cool  water! 

After  reaching  the  "turn  of  the  slide,"  we  see  the 
slippery  ledges  of  its  upper  half  waiting  to  be  scaled. 
Half  an  hour  later,  having  reached  the  inverted  V-- 
shaped top  of  the  slide,  where,  on  the  wind-swept 
shoulder  of  Passaconaway,  the  angry  tempest  in  the 
nineties  tore  up  the  trees  which,  crashing  down,  loos- 
ened dirt  and  stone  until  the  whole  mountain-side 
seemed  to  be  slipping  down,  we  find  a  narrow  little 
path  leading  to  the  summit.  Above  this  there  is  a 
stretch  of  firs  and  spruces,  through  which  we  journey 
onward  and  upward.  Presently  we  reach  the  ledges 
of  a  northerly  lookout.  Instead  of  the  huge  broad- 
shouldered  monarch,  the  mountain  now  appears  an  al- 
most perpendicular,  tree-fringed  shaft,  rapidly  tapering 
to  this  lofty  eagle-nest  of  a  cliff. 

The  slide  is  lined  with  bushes  and  scrub-trees;  in 
spots  there  are  piles  and  lanes  of  "slide  salad" — finely 
chipped  rock,  splintered  and  ground  up  timber,  and 
sand  all  stirred  in  together.  Gorgeous  views  may  be 


Passaconaway's  Pyramid  109 

had  in  retrospect  all  the  way  up  the  upper  half  of  the 
slide,  and,  of  course,  the  higher  up  we  go  the  better 
and  broader  the  view.  Nearly  all  the  Sandwich  Range 
peaks,  the  blue  northern  mountains  and  our  miniature 
valley  are  spread  out  before  us. 

When  the  path  reaches  the  crest  of  the  northern 
spur  it  becomes  dark,  damp,  and  mossy.  The  real 
"Crag  Barons,"  the  deer  and  wild-cat  and  bear,  reign 
supreme  here,  and  here  also  the  sun  rarely  penetrates 
the  thickly  branched  and  needled  spruces.  Occasionally 
beech  trees  also  are  found.  So  wet  is  the  moss  under- 
foot that  from  a  handful  considerable  water  may  be 
wrung.  As  we  pass  through  this  damp  wood,  invol- 
untarily we  shiver  from  the  chilliness  of  the  atmos- 
phere and  the  loneliness  of  the  great  mountain  wilder- 
ness. 

All  at  once  a  welcome  rift  appears  just  ahead.  We 
hurry  on  and  are  shortly  rewarded  by  coming  out  upon 
a  deliciously  warm,  sun-kissed  ledge.  This  is  the 
northwestern  outlook.  We  rest  here  long  enough  to 
drink  in  the  view  of  the  Franconia  system  and  the  moun- 
tains lying  between  us  and  that  region,  for  from  the 
main  outlook  we  shall  not  have  a  view  of  this  section. 
Tripyramid  bulks  large  from  here.  And  just  across  a 
gently  dipping  valley  to  the  west  and  southwest,  seem- 
ingly only  at  arm's  length,  lies  Mount  Whiteface,  to 
which  a  good  trail  leads  from  our  very  feet.  We  shall 
not  need  to  look  at  the  northern  sky-line'  from  here, 
for  we  shall  have  even  a  better  view  from  the  top. 

Hastily  we  cover  the  easy  quarter  mile  of  compara- 
tively level  trail  leading  to  the  final  goal.  And  now 


no  Passaconaway 

our  feet  rest  on  the  ledge  which  constitutes  the  actual 
summit  of  Passaconaway.  What  a  view  is  ours !  To 
the  northward  the  mountains  of  the  Presidential  Range 
lift  their  blue  peaks  into  the  clear  sky.  Eastward 
the  sharp  teeth  of  Moat  and  Chocorua  chew  jagged 
holes  in  the  azure  of  the  heavens.  Far  over  into  Maine 
can  we  see.  Southeasterly  lie  Portland  and  the  At- 
lantic Ocean.  Over  between  Madison  and  Eaton  a 
tiny  thread  of  smoky  steam  catches  our  eye,  and 
through  our  glasses  we  see  a  microscopic  worm  slowly 
crawling  northward.  This  is  the  train  from  Boston, 
laden  with  its  hundreds  of  passengers  on  their  way  to 
seek  rest  and  health  in  the  ozone  of  God's  Mountain 
Country.  To  me  the  best  of  the  view  is  the  herd 
of  blue  elephants,  humping  and  rolling  to  the  north- 
ward— the  Presidential  Range,  the  handiwork  of  a 
Maker  more  powerful  than  the  architects  of  locomotive- 
works  or  the  tiny  builders  of  human  ant-hills — our  mod- 
ern cities.  Your  trains,  your  hotels,  your  automobiles 
no  doubt  "may  be  all  right  for  some,"  as  the  old  guide, 
"Jack"  Allen,  used  to  say,  but  give  me  a  wild,  craggy 
mountain,  far  away  from  the  noise  and  dirt  and  con- 
fusion of  towns.  Here,  for  a  time,  at  least,  let  me 
be  a  "refugee  from  civilization."  7 

Here,  on  the  very  ridgepole  of  the  Sandwich  and 
Albany  country,  let  us  eat  our  luncheon,  meanwhile 
drinking  in  the  sky-line.  And  now,  having  satisfied  the 
ravenous  hunger  of  a  mountaineer,  we  unscrew  the 
cover  of  that  metallic  cylinder  which  the  Appalachians 
have  placed  in  a  little  cairn  here  on  the  summit.  In 

'Paul  Elmer  More:  Shelburne  Essays,  First  Series,  24. 


Passaconaway's  Pyramid  in 

it  we  find  a  long  list  of  names  of  persons  who  have 
climbed  the  mountain  before  us.  We  add  our  names 
to  the  list. 

Although  Passaconaway  is  nearly  seven  hundred  feet 
higher  than  Chocorua,  because  of  its  rounded  and 
wooded  top,  it  does  not  afford  a  panoramic  view  of 
the  entire  sky-line.  Now  that  we  are  rested,  let  us 
make  our  way  a  few  rods  to  the  southwest,  through 
the  woods,  for  we  must  not  go  down  until  we  have 
had  a  glimpse  of  W innepesaukee  and  the  Lake  Coun- 
try. 'Twill  cost  but  a  few  additional  steps,  for  which 
we  shall  be  repaid  a  thousandfold.  No  wonder  the 
Indians  loved  the  "Smiling  Waters"  (Winnepesaukee) 
and  Squam  Lake !  Far  off  in  the  dim  blue  we  can  make 
out  the  Uncanoonucs,  Monadnock  and  Wachusett. 

Would  that  we  might  "build  tabernacles"  here  in 
which  to  stay  forever !  But  the  noon-day  sun  is  now 
making  its  way  westward  and  we  must  think  of  de- 
scending to  that  little  white  speck  in  the  Albany  Inter- 
vale which  we  call  "Score-o'-Peaks"  and  "home." 

Passaconaway  is  an  ideal  haunt  for  bears.  In  the 
cylinder  in  which  we  registered  are  brief  records  of 
trampers  seeing  Ursa  Major  and  Ursa  Minor.  What 
could  be  more  fitting  than  that  the  little  "Teddy  Bears" 
of  to-day,  when  chased  by  savage  hunters,  should  flee 
for  refuge  to  the  holes  and  caves  on  the  shoulders 
of  old  Passaconaway,  for  was  not  Passaconaway,  the 
chieftain,  the  "Son  of  the  Bear"?  Truly,  one  would 
naturally  expect  that  Passaconaway's  name-bearing 
mountain  would  offer  shelter  to  the  bear  papooses 
in  their  fear  and  danger. 


H2  Passaconaway 

Many  summers  ago,  while  we  were  peacefully  sleep- 
ing early  one  night,  a  blood-curdling  scream  aroused 
us.  Again  and  again  it  was  repeated.  It  came  from 
a  bear  in  the  Downes  Brook  valley,  at  the  foot  of 
Passaconaway,  probably  calling  to  his  mate. 

One  morning,  about  nine  o'clock,  a  young  lumber- 
man came  speeding  down  the  road.  When  opposite 
our  cottage  he  was  asked  by  some  one  why  he  was 
hurrying  so;  whereupon,  with  pallid  features,  he  re- 
plied that  just  inside  the  edge  of  the  woods,  on  the 
Passaconaway  road,  a  shaggy  old  bear  had  introduced 
himself,  with  evident  intentions  of  becoming  better 
acquainted.  The  Frenchman  at  once  remembered  an 
urgent  engagement  requiring  his  presence  at  the  lum- 
ber-store. Therefore,  the  haste! 

A  couple,  planning  to  climb  Passaconaway  from  the 
Wonalancet  side,  had  notified  the  Shackfords  of  their 
intention  of  coming  over  the  mountain,  and  had  re- 
served a  room  for  the  night.  Evening  approached,  and 
at  length  the  stars  appeared.  Just  as  the  proprietors 
were  beginning  to  worry  about  the  belated  pedestrians, 
a  message  arrived  from  the  other  side  of  the  range  say- 
ing that,  after  almost  gaining  the  summit,  the  people 
had  decided  to  retrace  their  steps.  Later,  the  reason 
for  this  change  of  plan  was  explained  in  detail.  When 
they  approached  the  summit,  a  huge  bear  stuck  his 
muzzle  out  from  behind  a  ledge  at  the  side  of  the  path 
and  sniffed  at  the  bold  trespassers.  After  a  short 
pause,  in  which  the  said  trespassers  perceived  no  sign 
of  retreat  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Bear,  and  not  wishing 
to  disturb  the  transquillity  of  the  ursine  mind,  they — 


Passaconaway's  Pyramid  113 

unarmed — quietly  and  (need  I  add?)  speedily  retraced 
their  steps. 

Returning  from  the  ascent  of  Passaconaway  one  day, 
two  of  our  intimate  friends,  just  at  dark,  met  a  huge 
bear  in  the  path. 

Years  ago,  in  a  pouring  rain,  a  pair  of  wet,  tired, 
and  bedraggled  trampers  descended  from  the  mountain. 
The  man  was  leading  his  wife,  who  was  blind.  Eight 
years  later  my  parents  met  the  same  couple  in  Switzer- 
land. The  gentleman  was  reading  passages  from  guide- 
books and  telling  his  wife  about  the  scenery.  They 
had  traveled  for  years  in  this  way,  having  ridden  up 
Pike's  Peak,  among  other  mountains.  Amid  the 
wonders  and  grandeur  of  the  Alps  these  New  Eng- 
landers  chatted  together  once  more,  agreeing  that  the 
beauties  of  the  Rhone  Valley  were  strikingly  similar 
to  the  glories  of  the  Albany  Intervale  in  the  White 
Mountains. 

Concerning  Passaconaway's  great  slide  of  "late  No- 
vember"— often  have  the  old  settlers  described  it  to 
us — let  me  quote  a  stanza  from  Bolles's  "Chocorua's 
Tenants" : 


"Night  was  resting  on  the  heavens, 
Not  a  star  gleamed  in  the  ether, 
Only  in  the  far-off  Northland 
Dimly  glowed  a  lurid  beacon, 
Burning  in  the  awful  passes 
Close  by  Carrigain  the  mighty. 
Still  the  air,  and  soundless,  heavy, 
Phantom  vapors  mustered  quickly, 
Then  a  distant  sound  came  booming 
From  the  valley  of  the  Saco, 


114  Passaconaway 

Through  the  vale  of  singing  waters, 
Like  a  lake,  ice-riven,  moaning, 
Like  the  sea  in  deep  rock  caverns, 
Like  an  avalanche  in  winter, 
Like  the  winds  when  ripe  for  rapine. 
Louder,  deeper,  came  the  uproar, 
Surging,  leaping,  came  the  cloud  hosts; 
Tremble  now,  presumptuous  forests, 
Winds  and  clouds  combine  against  you, 
Pitying  stars  have  hid  their  faces, 
Night  with  sinister  intention 
Ne'er  was  darker,  never  denser. 
Woe,  oh  woe  to  you,  proud  forests, 
Day  shall  dawn  upon  your  ruin. 
Ah,  what  sound  is  that  of  rending, 
Crushing,  crashing,  splintering  timber? 
Hear  the  groans  of  breaking  spruce  trunks, 
Hear  the  moans  of  straining  fibres, 
Hear  the  roar  of  falling  boulders 
Bounding  down  the  endless  ledges. 
All  of  Passaconaway's  bulwarks 
Seem  to  break  before  the  storming."  8 

"Bolles:  Chocorua's  Tenants,  42-3,  published  by  Houghton,  Mifflin 
&  Co. 


CHAPTER  VI 

PAUGUS,    MOUNTAIN  AND   CHIEFTAIN 

THE  southeastern  rampart  of  our  valley  consists 
of  three  picturesque  mountains :  Chocorua,  with 
its  rocky,  jagged  peak;   Bald,  with  its   rounded  and 
polished  triple  dome;  and  Paugus,  a  long,  humpy  ridge, 
miles  in  extent. 

The  present  chapter  is  to  be  devoted  to  the  last,  the 
wildest  and  the  ugliest  of  the  three.  Frank  Bolles  has 
a  chapter  on  this  mountain  in  his  "At  the  North  of 
Bearcamp  Water,"  in  which  he  affectionately  terms  it 
"Old  Shag."  Many  of  our  New  Hampshire  hills  are 
known  by  several  different  names,  but  this  one  in  par- 
ticular seems  to  have  a  great  variety.  Because  of  its 
many  "fire  and  wind  swept  domes,"  1  from  different 
viewpoints  it  presents  entirely  different  shapes.  Hence 
Paugus  has  as  many  names  as  it  has  humps.  The  most 
common  ones  are :  Bald,  Moose,  Ragged,  Deer,  Hunch- 
back, Middle,  Frog,  Toadback,  and  Old  Shag.2  But 
the  most  romantic  and  commonest  name  to-day  is  the 
one  with  which  Miss  Lucy  Larcom  christened  it — 
"Mount  Paugus."  3 

1  Bolles:  Land  of  the  Lingering  Snow,  155. 

2 Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  146;  Appalachia,  I,  7; 
Osgood's  White  Mountains,  343. 

'Granite  State  Magazine,  vol.  Ill,  189;  Osgood's  White  Mountains, 
343- 

IIS 


n6  Passaconaway 

Time  and  again  this  venerable  pile,  3,248  feet  in 
height,  has  been  the  victim  of  fire,  hurricane,  and 
ax.4  From  our  valley  we  see  on  its  most  north- 
western ridge  a  large  area  covered  with  a  beautiful 
light  green  young  growth.  Three  years  ago  this  was 
bare — a  huge  scar — the  merciless  ax  of  the  lumber- 
man having  stripped  it  clean,  so  that  not  even  a  bush 
could  be  seen  upon  it.  The  United  States  Government 
now  owns  this  "old  ridge,"  so  that  in  time  the  mighty 
Paugus  once  more  probably  will  robe  itself  in  a  mantle 
of  pines  and  spruces. 

Before  the  Revolution,  from  these  very  slopes,  masts 
were  cut  for  the  Royal  Navy.5  The  old  settlers  tell 
of  finding  immense  pines  marked  with  the  King's 
"Broad  Arrow,"  and,  had  not  the  famous  mast  trade 
ceased  with  the  opening  of  our  Revolution,  these  forest 
monarchs  would  have  helped  to  whiten  every  sea.6 

On  its  south  side,  Paugus  is  a  jumble  of  ledges,  cliffs 
and  trees.  From  Chocorua  one  sees  it  as  a  series  of 
rocky  terraces,  while  from  our  side  (the  north)  only 
one  or  two  cliffs  jut  out  through  the  dark  veil  of  spruce. 
There  is  one  especially  beautiful  ledge  in  about  the 
center  of  the  mountain.  It  is  shaped  like  a  kite,  start- 
ing in  a  point  at  the  top,  widening  at  an  obtuse  angle, 
then,  for  the  remaining  three  quarters  of  its  height,  it 
tapers  smoothly  down  to  a  sharp  point.  The  face  of 
this  ledge  is  almost  perpendicular  and  apparently  of 

4  Compare  Bolles:  Land  of  the  Lingering  Snow,  155. 
5Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  43-44. 
'  Compare  Weeden :  Economic  and  Social  History  of  New  England, 
I,  243- 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  117 

white  granite.  It  is  almost  as  white  as  chalk  and  not 
a  speck  or  spot  seems  to  blur  its  brilliancy.  I  think 
that  this  is  the  whitest  ledge  in  the  entire  Sandwich 
Range.  When  the  moon  plays  upon  it  it  appears  to 
sparkle  and  even  tremble  as  a  waterfall.  It  is  said 
that  the  Indians,  and  some  of  the  whites,  held  this  spot 
in  awe;  they  knew  not  whether  it  was  rock  or  water. 
The  only  approach  to  it,  from  our  side,  at  least,  is 
through  miles  of  the  worst  of  tangles. 

A  writer  speaks  of  a  certain  ledge  on  the  northwest- 
erly side  of  Paugus,  the  upper  part  of  which  displays 
the  perfect  image  of  a  lamb's  head.  "Eye,  mouth,  nose, 
ear  and  forehead  are  exact;  even  the  chest  and  back 
are  clearly  delineated.  Here  it  has  stood  for  ages, 
an  object  of  veneration  to  the  aborigines,  a  natural 
symbol  of  the  Christian's  Prince  of  Peace."  7 

The  three  foes — fire,  wind,  and  man — have  done 
their  work  only  too  well — they  have  made  Paugus  one 
of  the  most  inaccessible  of  all  the  hills.  The  one  path 
to  the  top,  from  our  side,  is  "swamped  out"  with  a  ter- 
rible yet  very  dull  blade,  namely,  the  hurricane,  which 
has  torn  and  slashed,  leaving  a  great  abattis,  an  almost 
impenetrable  tangle.  From  the  south,  there  are  many 
attractive  paths  leading  to  the  summit.8 

The  view  both  north  and  south  is  practically  the 
same  as  from  some  of  the  more  accessible  lookouts. 
There  are  only  two  distinctive  views  from  Paugus, 
views  which  no  other  mountain  can  boast.  From  its 

'Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  124. 

8  A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  Paths  in  the  White  Mountains,    1916,  319   ff. 


Ii8  Passaconaway 

eastern  hump,  a  remarkable  view  may  be  had  of  Cho- 
corua,  towering  and  frowning  high  above.  The  huge 
slide  on  Chocorua — nearly  the  whole  length  of  the 
western  slope,  which  is  invisible  from  all  other  points, 
is  here  seen  in  such  awful  grandeur  as  to  cause  the  be- 
holder to  shudder.9  The  second  impressive  view  is 
from  the  extreme  southwestern  knoll.  From  here  one's 
attention  is  monopolized  by  lofty  Passaconaway.  Poor 
Paugus  appears  to  be  on  its  knees  at  the  feet  of  this 
mighty  Bashaba.  From  here,  as  from  nowhere  else, 
the  massive  bulk  of  Passaconaway  strikes  horror  into 
the  spectator.  This  gigantic  pile  so  overtops  Paugus 
that  it  appears  as  if  a  hurricane  might  topple  it  over 
and  completely  bury  its  humble  neighbor. 

The  most  picturesque  physical  feature  of  Paugus  is 
found  among  the  crags  and  boulders  on  the  southern 
slope.  Over,  between  and  around  some  of  these  ledges 
a  little  brook  trickles,  falls  and  splashes.  About  a 
thousand  feet  above  the  level  country  around,  high 
up  among  the  cliffs,  there  is  a  beautiful  pool  of  water 
which  is  at  the  foot  of  a  wonderful  series  of  falls. 
Looking  up  from  here  we  see  where,  in  places,  the 
brook  is  but  a  silver  thread,  while  in  others  it  appears 
as  a  very  respectable  fall.  This  fall  consists  of  a  suc- 
cession of  storied  ledges  and  cliffs,  at  least  two  hun- 
dred and  fifty  feet  long,  from  the  mossy  brook-bed  to 
the  glassy  pool  below.  Each  of  these  crags  is  from 
fifty  to  sixty  feet  long,  and  about  twenty-five  feet  in 
perpendicular  height.10  Over  these  the  water  shoots, 

"Compare  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  154. 
"Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  150-1. 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  119 

spreads  and  dances.  Bolles,  who  was  a  great  admirer 
of  Mount  Paugus,  says  that  if  the  volume  of  Paugus 
Brook  were  thrice  its  present  size,  these  falls  would 
be  among  the  most  beautiful  in  New  England.11 

An  "old  timer"  says  that  when  the  Lord  had  nearly 
finished  creating  the  world,  He  had  a  quantity  of 
boulders,  trees  and  dirt  left  over.  Having  not  yet  com- 
pleted New  Hampshire,  it  is  said  that  He  dumped  this 
surplus  material  there.  Therefore  the  mountains.12  I 
think  that  if  all  of  our  beautiful  White  Mountains  were 
on  the  Paugus  plan,  the  "highlander"  would  not  be 
alone  in  his  belief.  For,  of  the  score  or  more  moun- 
tains seen  from  our  valley,  this  alone  has  no  definite 
shape,  size,  or  dimensions;  but  just  stretches  from 
Chocorua  to  Passaconaway  and  Wonalancet,  and  thus 
fills  up  a  gap. 

However,  the  lover  of  history,  especially  Indian 
history,  cannot  look  upon  this  ridge  without  emotion, 
for  it  bears  the  name  of  a  once  prominent  figure  in 
New  England  history;  and  at  the  mention  of  "Paugus" 
a  bloody  battle  is  recalled.  Hence  the  chief  redeeming 
feature  of  this  lowly  mountain  is  its  name.  The  one 
to  whom  nearly  all  these  peaks  owe  their  romantic 
Indian  nomenclature — Lucy  Larcom — happily  named 
this  after  a  red  man  who  probably  often  ranged  its 
humps  and  penetrated  its  chasms;  and  also  she  named 
the  ragged  ridges,  near  and  below  Paugus,  the  Wahwah 
Hills,  after  a  fellow  chief  of  Paugus.13 

"Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  151. 
"Granite  Monthly,  vol.  XLII,  p.  271. 
18  Osgood's  White  Mountains,  343. 


I2O  Passaconaivay 

Paugus,  meaning  "the  oak,"14  was  a  sachem  of  the 
Pequawkets  about  1725. 15  At  this  period  the  authori- 
ties of  the  Provincial  Government  offered  one  hundred 
pounds  bounty  for  every  enemy  Indian  scalp.16  The 
English  were  not  alone  in  this  barbarity,  for  their 
rivals — the  French — had  been  outfitting  parties  and 
offering  their  Indian  allies  premiums  for  enemy  scalps 
or  prisoners.17 

Among  those  tempted  by  the  scalp  bounty  was  Cap- 
tain John  Lovewell,  of  Dunstable,  a  famous  Indian 
fighter.  On  February  20,  1725,  Lovewell's  party,  dis- 
covering the  tracks  of  Indians,  followed  them.  By 
the  smoke  of  the  Indians'  evening  fire,  the  English  lo- 
cated the  redskins'  camping  spot.  The  canny  Love- 
well,  by  counting  their  tracks  in  the  snow,  knew  them 
to  be  only  ten  in  number,  and  determined  upon  a  plan 
whereby  they  should  all  be  shot  without  danger  to 
his  own  men.  The  captain  divided  his  company  into 
squads  of  five,  each  to  fire  in  order  as  rapidly  after 
one  another  as  possible.  Slowly  they  crept  upon  the 
sleeping  party.  The  Indians,  tired  from  the  long  day's 
journey,  had  not  posted  any  sentinels.  Captain  Love- 
well  began  the  slaughter  by  killing  two  of  the  Indians 
with  his  own  shot;  five  more  were  killed  on  the  spot 

"Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  36. 

"Drake:  Indians  of  North  America,  312. 

18 Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  149.  Also  compare  fac-simile  of  a 
proclamation  issued  by  Lieutenant  Governor  William  Stoughton,  Prov- 
ince of  Massachusetts  Bay,  May  27,  1696,  offering  soldiers'  wages  and 
bounty  for  Indian  scalps.  See  Bulletin  of  Boston  Public  Library, 
October,  1893. 

17  Compare  Potter:  Manchester,  146. 


,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  121 

instantly.  The  remaining  three,  half  awake,  jumped 
from  their  blankets;  two  reeled  and  fell;  the  other, 
wounded,  ran  upon  the  ice  but  was  overtaken  and 
held  by  a  dog  until  he  could  be  killed  and  scalped.  By 
these  tactics  not  a  white  man  was  hurt  and  a  raid  prob- 
ably was  averted.  For  the  French  doubtless  had  fitted 
out  the  raiders  with  extra  provisions,  snow-shoes  and 
blankets,  evidently  for  their  expected  prisoners.18  In 
memory  of  this  affair,  the  pond,  near  Wakefield,  has 
'ever  since  been  known  as  "Lovewell's  Pond."  The 
victorious  troops  marched  to  Boston  in  a  blaze  of 
glory.  They  were  given  their  thousand  pounds — an 
enormous  sum  in  the  eyes  of  these  farmers — which 
they  divided.19 

After  such  a  glorious  success  and  so  rich  a  reward, 
it  is  not  surprising  to  find  the  victors  seriously  con- 
sidering making  redskin-killing  a  profession.  On  April 
15,  1725,  therefore,  Captain  Lovewell  set  out  with  a 
party  of  about  fifty  men  to  "hunt  savages,"  and  if  nec- 
essary to  penetrate  to  the  very  heart  of  the  red  man's 
country  for  the  purpose  of  slaying  Paugus  and  his 
band — known  to  have  made  several  raids — and  return 
home  with  scores  of  scalps.20 

This  time  Fortune  seems  to  have  deserted  them  as 
completely  as  it  had  favored  them  before.21  A  vet- 

18 Potter:  Manchester,  150-1;  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  52. 

"Potter:  Manchester,  151. 

20  Compare  Potter:  History  of  Manchester,  152. 

"This  account  of  Lovewell's  Fight  is  based  chiefly  upon  N.  H. 
Historical  Collections;  Chase:  Gathered  Sketches,  N.  H.  and  Vt.,  32 
ff. ;  Parkman:  Half  Century  of  Conflict,  vol.  I,  chap.  XI;  Potter:  His- 
tory of  Manchester,  145-162;  Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  28- 


122  Passaconaway 

eran  Indian-fighter,  William  Cummings,  became  unable 
to  travel  farther  because  of  the  effects  of  a  wound  re- 
ceived long  before,  and  a  relative  was  detailed  to  escort 
him  home  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  travel.  Soon  after 
a  Nutfield  man,  Benjamin  Kidder,  was  disabled  by 
a  serious  illness,  and,  being  too  humane  to  abandon 
him,  the  party  stopped  on  the  west  side  of  Ossipee 
Lake,  where  they  erected  a  palisaded  blockhouse.  The 
surgeon,  Sergeant  Woods  and  a  guard  of  seven  men 
were  left  here.  This  blockhouse  was  to  be  a  refuge 
in  case  of  retreat. 

The  remaining  thirty-four  continued  on  their  ad- 
vance northeast  to  the  land  of  the  Pequawkets.  At 
length  we  find  them  picking  their  way  through  the 
unbroken  fastnesses  under  the  still  snow-covered  brows 
of  Chocorua,  Bald,  Moat  and  Kearsarge.  On  the 
seventh  of  May,  while  camping  near  the  present  site 
of  Fryeburg,  Maine,  having  crossed  the  Saco,  the  senti- 
nels were  put  upon  their  guard  by  sounds,  repeated 
again  and  again,  in  the  underbrush,  which  sounds,  they 
thought,  might  be  made  by  prowling  beast  or  lurking 
savage. 

Next  morning,  while  reverently  listening  with  bared 
heads  to  the  prayer  of  their  young  chaplain,  Frye,  a 
shot  was  heard  not  a  great  distance  off.  Upon  ap- 
proaching the  spot  from  whence  it  came  they  discovered 
a  fairly  large  pond,  and  upon  its  nearer  bank  stood 

33,  quoting  Hon.  John  H.  Goodale  in  his  History  of  Nashua  (written 
for  J.  W.  Lewis  &  Co.:  History  of  Hillsborough  County)  ;  Charlton: 
New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  52-54;  Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Moun- 
tain History,  205-222. 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  123 

a  red  man,  apparently  fowling.  Here  was  scalp  num- 
ber one!  For  their  labors  they  should  receive  some 
recompense!  But  might  not  this  hunter  be  a  decoy? 
A  council  of  war  was  held  and  the  scalp  proved  too 
tempting.  Being  in  open  woods  of  tall  growth,  where 
they  could  see  quite  a  distance,  they  left  their  packs 
and  started  to  creep  up  and  shoot  this  Indian.  But  the 
native's  eyes  were  as  sharp  as  theirs.  Although  not 
a  decoy,  as  it  later  appeared,  he  perceived  the  ambush 
and  decided  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  possible.  With 
his  charge  of  beaver-shot  he  mortally  wounded  Captain 
Lovewell  and  Private  Whiting.  Almost  instantly  a 
bullet  from  Ensign  Wyman's  rifle  brought  down  the 
Indian.  Chaplain  Frye  and  another  man  ran  forward 
and  scalped  him. 

In  view  of  their  leader's  plight  it  was  thought  best 
by  the  English  to  retire  to  their  packs.  Where  could 
they  have  left  them?  No  packs  were  to  be  seen,  but 
at  length  the  spot  where  they  had  deposited  them  was 
found.  The  packs  had  been  stolen !  Suddenly  a  blood- 
curdling yell  rang  out.  From  all  sides  the  Pequawkets, 
led  by  Paugus,  rushed  upon  the  whites,  firing  as  they 
came,  and  holding  up  ropes,  suggestive  of  an  immediate 
surrender.  By  counting  the  packs,  the  Indians  had 
ascertained  the  number  of  whites. 

The  frontiersmen  withered  and  fell  under  the  hail 
of  this  first  volley.  Lovewell,  not  yet  dead,  received 
another  wound,  but  lay  firing  as  he  died.  Ten  others 
fell  dead,  two  of  whom  were  the  lieutenants.  Yet  the 
English  stood  their  ground  and,  with  an  equally  gall- 
ing fire,  answered  the  onrushing  braves,  killing  some 


124  Passaconaway 

and  driving  the  rest  to  cover.  Unless  the  Pequawkets 
intended  to  strike  terror  into  the  English,  and  thereby 
avoid  a  fight,  their  motive  for  rushing  forth  from  their 
ambush,  from  which  they  might  have  killed  many  more 
of  Lovewell's  men,  will  always  remain  a  mystery. 

One  only  of  the  English  showed  a  "yellow  streak" ; 
he,  Benjamin  Hassell  of  Dunstable,  turned  and  fled 
from  the  field.  In  his  panic  he  did  not  stop  until  he 
had  reached  the  Ossipee  Fort.  Here  he  so  luridly 
pictured  the  bloody  scene  (he  had  remained  only  for 
the  first  volley)  that  fear  seized  the  reserves  and  they 
retreated  to  the  settlements.  With  the  surviving  em- 
battled men  it  was  a  case  of  life  or  death;  far  from  any 
aid,  they  must  not  only  decisively  whip  their  foes,  but 
also  must  regain  the  settlements  before  starvation 
should  strike  them  down. 

Under  the  cool  and  experienced  guidance  of  their 
only  unharmed  officer,  Ensign  Wyman,  they  gradually 
fell  back  the  few  rods  to  the  shore.  Here,  with  the 
pond  behind  them,  they  settled  down  for  a  long  battle. 
Each  man  sought  out  cover — stump,  log,  tree,  boulder, 
or  bush — and,  as  best  he  could,  concealed  himself  from 
the  vigilant  eyes  of  his  enemies.  Whenever  a  tiny  part 
of  a  foe  was  seen,  the  soldiers  fired.  The  red  men, 
trained  in  this  type  of  bush-fighting,  possessed  the 
greater  resourcefulness  in  concealment;  while  the 
woodsmen,  long  skilled  in  the  use  of  fire-arms,  excelled 
in  deadliness  of  aim.  Also  the  white  men  were  more 
dogged,  obstinate  and  persevering  than  their  more 
agile  foes.  Hence,  because  the  weakness  of  the  one 
side  was  the  strong  point  of  the  other,  they  were  not 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  125 

unevenly  matched  and  many  men  on  both  sides  fell. 

Many  of  the  Pequawkets  and  English  were  person- 
ally known  to  each  other  and  frequent  taunts  were 
hurled  across  the  field.22  A  continual  hooting,  cat- 
calling and  wolf-howling  was  kept  up  by  the  savages, 
to  which  the  English  replied  with  cheers  and  shouts. 

After  several  hours  of  this  kind  of  fighting  the  In- 
dian howls  died  away.  With  the  slightest  rustling  in 
the  leaves,  as  of  a  retreating  snake,  they  gradually 
wriggled  off.  Presently,  at  a  distance,  a  terrible 
noise  showed  that  they  were  holding  a  powwow  for  vic- 
tory. Suddenly,  like  an  ill  omen,  their  chief  conjurer 
fell  dead,  shot  by  Ensign  Wyman,  who  had  secretly 
crept  up.  This  broke  up  the  meeting  abruptly  and 
they  immediately  returned  to  the  conflict. 

Later,  Chaplain  Frye,  who  lay  wounded,  praying 
from  time  to  time  in  a  scarcely  audible  voice,  passed 
away.  This  youth's  death  greatly  depressed  the  Eng- 
lish and  their  fire  became  noticeably  lessened;  where- 
upon the  Pequawkets  again  sprang  up  with  ropes,  of- 
fering them  quarter,  but  Ensign  Wyman  replied  that 
"they  would  have  no  quarter  but  what  they  won  at 
the  point  of  their  muskets."  23 

Once  more  the  battle  was  renewed.  Just  before 
dusk  some  savages  managed  to  reach  a  peninsula  or 
beach.  Paugus  was  one  of  these.  He  took  cover 
behind  a  pine  tree  within  a  very  short  distance  of  one 
of  Lovewell's  best  shots,  John  Chamberlain.  For  a 
short  time  each  endeavored  to  discover  an  unpro- 

2JMcClintock:  History  of  New  Hampshire,  161. 
28 Potter:  Manchester,  157. 


126  Passaconaway 

tected  part  of  the  other's  person  and  at  length  both 
aimed  their  muskets  and  pulled  the  trigger.  There 
was  a  flash  in  each  priming-pan,  but  the  guns  failed  to 
go  off.  Both  weapons  had  become  foul  from  inces- 
sant firing  all  day  long,  and  were  now  practically  use- 
less. So  these  fearless  men,  being  acquainted  with 
each  other,  agreed  to  go  down  to  the  water  and  wash 
out  their  guns.  The  contestants  on  both  sides,  perceiv- 
ing the  situation,  did  not  interfere.  Both  cleansed 
their  pieces  with  equal  rapidity,  but  Paugus  gained  the 
advantage  in  loading  his  gun,  because,  instead  of  hav- 
ing to  ram  his  ball  home,  as  did  the  white,  his  bullet 
was  small  enough  to  roll  down  the  barrel.  Perceiving 
his  advantage,  he,  priming  his  piece,  cried,  "Me  kill 
you!"  24  To  which  the  dauntless  Scot  replied  in  kind. 
Throwing  down  his  ram-rod,  Chamberlain  struck  the 
stock  of  his  gun  upon  the  hard  sand,  brought  the  musket 
to  his  shoulder  and  fired.  Paugus  fell,  pierced  through 
the  heart.  But  the  well-aimed  ball  of  the  sachem  tore 
through  Chamberlain's  cap  and  hair,  leaving  him  un- 
wounded,  however.25  So  close  together  were  the  shots 
that  the  reports  seemed  as  one.  The  reason  Chamber- 
lain had  gained  the  advantage  was  because  his  musket 
had  become  so  worn  with  use  that,  by  striking  it  upon 
the  ground,  some  powder  from  the  charged  barrel 
filtered  through  into  the  priming-pan,  thereby  priming 
the  gun;  while  Paugus  had  to  shake  from  his  powder- 
horn  the  necessary  powder  into  the  priming-pan.  The 

"Potter:  Manchester,  157. 

K  Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  New  England,  Maine  vol.,  135,  note. 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  127 

knowledge  of  this  is  all  that  saved  the  settler's  life.26 

Shortly  after  dark  the  discomfited  Indians  retreated, 
even  leaving  their  fallen  foes  unscalped.  In  considera- 
tion of  the  value  of  these  scalps,  this  precipitous  with- 
drawal shows  that  there  was  some  pressing  reason.  It 
is  highly  probable  that  the  death  of  their  chieftain  was 
the  cause.  But  whatever  the  reason,  they  suddenly 
disappeared  and  left  the  field  to  the  whites. 

Of  Lovewell's  men  only  nine  were  not  severely 
hurt,  eleven  were  badly  wounded  and  the  rest  were 
hors  de  combat.  It  was  estimated  that  only  about 
twenty  Pequawkets  escaped  unhurt.  However,  this 
was  only  a  conjecture,  for  the  Indians  so  concealed 
their  losses  that  later  only  three  corpses  were  found. 

For  some  time  the  English  lay  still,  dreading  lest 
the  Indians  should  fall  upon  them  again,  as  they  had 
done  twice  already.  About  midnight,  as  soon  as  pru- 
dence permitted,  the  eleven  men  who  were  able  to 
travel  set  out  for  the  Ossipee  Fort.  It  was  found 
abandoned,  but  a  piece  of  birch  bark  was  discovered 
telling  that  all  had  been  lost.  Some  rations  of  pork 
and  bread  had  been  left.  While  refreshing  themselves 
with  these,  their  number  was  swelled  to  a  dozen  by 
the  addition  of  Solomon  Keyes.  He,  thrice  wounded, 
and  giving  himself  up  for  lost,  had  crawled  to  the 
shore  of  the  pond  where  he  chanced  upon  a  deserted 
canoe.  In  preference  to  being  found  by  the  savages, 
he  pushed  off  in  it,  and,  lying  in  the  bottom,  drifted 
quite  a  distance.  The  wind  drove  him  ashore,  where, 

""Fassett:  Colonial  Life  in  New  Hampshire,  19;  also  Potter:  Man- 
chester, 157. 


128  Passaconaway 

feeling  greatly  strengthened,  he  made  his  way  to  the 
fort. 

On  the  thirteenth  of  May  the  first  party  of  half- 
starved  fugitives  arrived  in  Dunstable.  Thinking  that 
by  division  their  retreat  might  be  concealed,  they  had 
formed  three  groups.  The  last  group,  after  indescrib- 
able hardship  and  suffering,  arrived  two  days  later. 
These  followers  of  Lovewell  had  had  no  food  except 
that  left  in  the  fort  and  had  been  forced  to  subsist 
on  the  products  of  the  wood  and  swamp.  Their  wounds 
were  in  a  most  pitiable  condition  and  were  almost  un- 
bearably painful.  But  they  had  made  history  and  the 
pond  near  Fryeburg  has  been  called  "Lovewell's  Pond" 
ever  since  the  sanguinary  struggle  there. 

Two  or  three  days  after  the  arrival  of  the  survivors, 
a  party  was  sent  up  to  view  the  fateful  field  and  to 
bury  the  slain.  Three  Indian  graves  were  discovered. 
From  these,  out  of  curiosity,  the  frontiersmen  exhumed 
the  bodies.  One  of  these  was  found  to  be  that  of 
Paugus.  The  mighty  "Oak"  at  last  had  been  laid 
low. 

Lovewell's  Fight  forever  broke  the  power  of  the 
Indians  in  New  Hampshire.  The  shattered  remnants 
of  the  once  terrible  Pequawkets  withdrew  to  the  squalid 
Indian  village  of  Saint  Francis  in  Canada,  where  their 
descendants  survive  to  this  day. 

But  a  more  congenial  neighbor  than  the  old-time 
war-whooping,  musket-firing  Paugus,  and  certainly  a 
more  poetic  bearer  of  his  proud  name  than  an  un- 
romantic  Indian  of  to-day  could  be,  is  Mount  Paugus, 
linking  Past  with  Present,  just  as  "Old  Shag"  links 


Paugus,  Mountain  and  Chieftain  129 

jagged  Chocorua  with  gentle  Wonalancet  and  tower- 
ing Passaconaway;  and,  until  the  "everlasting  hills" 
shall  disintegrate  and  disappear,  Mount  Paugus  prob- 
ably will  remain  as  an  enduring  and  fitting  monument 
to  a  once  living  and  fearless  inhabitant  of  Passacon- 
away-land;  reminding  succeeding  generations  that 

"  'Twas  Paugus  led  the  Pequot  tribe: 
As  runs  the  fox,  would  Paugus  run  ; 
As  howls  the  wolf,  would  Paugus  howl ; 
A  huge  bear-skin  had  Paugus  on."  27 

"Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mountain  History,  218  ff. ;  quo.  from 
Farmer  and  Moore:  Collections,  Historical  and  Miscellaneous,  and 
Monthly  Literary  Journal. 


CHAPTER    VII 

CHOCORUA'S  HORN  AND  LEGEND 

OVER  the  eastern  shoulder  of  Paugus  rises  a  sharp 
peak  resembling  a  breaking  wave.1  This,  Cho- 
corua's  summit,  is  likened  to  various  things.  The  most 
striking  resemblances  from  our  valley  are  first  the  horn 
effect,  and  secondly  that  of  a  sleeping  Indian,  with  per- 
fect features,  feathers  and  shoulders. 

Drake  says,  "Mount  Chocorua  is  probably  the  most 
striking  and  individual  mountain  of  New  England."2 
It  stands  as  the  helmeted  leader  of  the  mighty  troop 
behind  it, — 

"The  pioneer  of  a  great  company 

That  wait  behind  him,  gazing  towards  the  east, — 

Mighty  ones  all,  down  to  the  nameless  least, — 
Though  after  him  none  dares  to  press,  where  he 
With  bent  head  listens  to  the  minstrelsy 

Of  far  waves  chanting  to  the  moon,  their  priest. 

What  phantom  rises  up  from  winds  deceased? 
What  whiteness  of  the  unapproachable  sea? 

Hoary  Chocorua  guards  his  mystery  well: 
He  pushes  back  his  fellows,  lest  they  hear 

The  haunting  secret  he  apart  must  tell 
To  his  lone  self,  in  the  sky-silence  clear. 

A  shadowy,  cloud-cloaked  wraith,  with  shoulders  bowed 

He  steals,  conspicuous,  from  the  mountain-crowd."  8 
'Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  154. 
'Drake:  New  England  Legends  and  Folk-Lore,  469. 
'Lucy  Larcom:  Chocorua;  see  Longfellow:  Poems  of  New  England, 
II,  272. 

130 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  131 

From  different  standpoints  Chocorua  presents  en- 
tirely different  shapes,  causing  Mr.  Sweetser  to  re- 
mark: "The  various  aspects  to  the  aesthetic  observer 
may  be  seen  from  the  following  adjectives  which  Starr 
King  applied,  in  different  places,  to  this  peak:  defiant, 
jagged,  gaunt  and  grisly,  tired,  haggard,  rocky,  deso- 
late, craggy-peaked,  ghost-like,  crouching,  proud,  gal- 
lant, steel-hooded,  rugged,  torn,  lonely,  proud-peaked, 
solemn,  haughty."  4 

This  peak,  with  the  exception  of  Mounts  Adams  and 
Washington,  the  sharpest  of  the  entire  system,  is  seen 
from  afar — from  the  lake  country  and  even  from  the 
border  towns  of  Maine  and  New  Hampshire.5  Choc- 
orua is  the  first  real  mountain  identified  from  the  train 
by  the  traveler  coming  from  Boston  or  the  south,  and 
being  the  most  picturesque,  is  usually  the  last  to  be 
erased  from  the  memory.6 

The  reason  this  "old  horn"  stands  out  so  much 
more  imposingly  than  its  neighbors  is  not  only  because 
of  its  steepness  and  unique  shape,  but  also  because, 
far  down  on  its  granite  sides  it  has  been  denuded  of  its 
forests.  One  dark  night  many  years  ago  Choco- 
rua lifted  up  a  pyramid  of  flame.  Concerning  this  pic- 
ture Drake  writes:  "A  brilliant  circle  of  light,  twenty 
miles  in  extent,  surrounded  the  flaming  peak  like  a 
halo;  while  underneath  an  immense  tongue  of  forked 
flame  licked  the  sides  of  the  summit  with  devouring 
haste.  ...  In  the  morning  a  few  charred  trunks, 

*Osgood:  White  Mountains,  337. 

'The  same. 

'Compare  Drake:  New  England  Legends  and  Folk-Lore,  469. 


132  Passaconaway 

standing  erect,  were  all  that  remained  of  the  original 
forest.  The  rocks  themselves  bear  witness  to  the  in- 
tense heat  which  has  either  cracked  them  wide  open, 
crumbled  them  in  pieces,  or  divested  them,  like  oysters, 
of  their  outer  shell,  all  along  the  path  of  the  conflagra- 
tion." 7  To  this  day  the  charred  remains  may  still  be 
seen,  and  now,  because  of  this  fire,  scores  of  natives 
each  summer  make  pilgrimages  to  this  peak  and  re- 
turn with  their  huge  milk-pails  filled  with  blueberries.8 

To  me  the  best  way  to  enjoy  a  mountain,  besides 
admiring  it  from  a  distance,  is  to  climb  it.  Dr.  Jack- 
son is  recorded  as  saying,  "Those  who  wish  for  a  la- 
borious mountain  excursion  can  ascend  Chocorua 
Mountain  from  Albany."  9  He  might  have  added  that, 
as  it  is  the  most  laborious,  it  is  also  the  most  varied 
and  interesting  way  of  ascent.  Several  accounts  have 
been  written  about  the  climbs  up  Chocorua  and  scores 
of  other  articles  on  the  mountain  itself  have  appeared. 
If  one  plans  to  scale  "Chocorua's  horn," 10  a  day 
should  be  selected  just  after  a  storm,  with  not  a  cloud 
in  the  sky,  and  when  every  tree  on  the  distant  peaks 
may  be  clearly  and  distinctly  seen.  Such  days  usually 
are  found  in  late  August  or  in  the  autumn. 

The  "Chocorua  Trail"  may  be  found  just  the  other 
side  of  the  Champney  Brook,  which  gurgles  musically 
east  of  the  Frenchmen's  houses  at  the  lower  end  of 
the  "Great  Intervale,"  where  said  brook  crosses  the 

'Drake:  Heart  of  the  White  Mountains,  27. 
8  Compare  Osgood:  White  Mountains,  337. 
*  The  same,  338. 
"Whittier:  Among  the  Hills. 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  133 

road,  nearly  four  miles  from  "Shackford's."  This 
part  of  the  journey,  therefore,  may  be  made  in  an 
automobile.  Upon  reaching  the  Champncy  Brook  we 
shoulder  our  baggage,  and  enter  the  woods  on  a  well- 
worn  logging-road,  running  alongside  the  brook,  which 
it  crosses  and  re-crosses.  The  tall  grass  and  bushes 
lining  this  road  are  still  very  wet  from  the  dew,  and 
sparkle  beautifully  when  an  occasional  flash  of  sunlight 
falls  upon  them. 

Just  ahead  there  is  a  turn  in  the  path.  While  round- 
ing this  bend  a  few  summers  ago,  on  returning  from 
the  climb,  we  saw  a  magnificent  red  fox  glide  swiftly 
across  the  road  and  head  straight  for  the  Frenchmen's 
chicken-houses.  Later  a  confused  squawking  of  hens 
announced  the  success  of  the  raider.  Upon  entering 
the  woods  that  day  we  had  noticed  a  litter  of  pigs  and 
several  chickens  in  the  clearing.  Reynard,  after  gaz- 
ing covetously  upon  them,  evidently  had  been  unable 
to  resist  the  temptation. 

Presently  the  ground  becomes  more  irregular,  and 
in  places  spring  freshets  have  so  gullied  the  road  that 
a  very  "contrary  sidewalk"  (as  tipsy  Pat  said)  lies 
before  us.  Now  and  then  a  warm  ray  of  sunlight 
pierces  the  cool,  damp  woods,  and,  falling  upon  us, 
cheers  us  into  buoyant  gladness.  Now  a  little  grass- 
covered  clearing  opens  before  us.  Look  at  that  grass ! 
The  one  thing  that  can  be  raised  to  perfection  in  these 
cold  regions  is  hay.  The  grass  in  this  abandoned  clear- 
ing is  tt  least  four  feet  high.  A  ruined  lumber-camp 
lies  in  the  clearing.  Only  a  few  years  ago  a  French 
boss  was  housing  his  lumberjacks  in  thjs  very  camp, 


134  Passaconaway 

yet,  during  this  short  period,  these  temporary  build- 
ings have  crumbled  and  soon  will  have  entirely  disap- 
peared. Here  a  roof  has  caved  in,  there  a  whole 
building  is  prostrate ;  again  the  front,  back,  or  side 
has  fallen  away,  leaving  the  once  inhabited  structure 
now  a  tragic  ruin  of  neglect  and  lonesomeness. 

About  two  years  ago  we  discovered  the  cutest  and 
most  active  little  house-cats  playing  among  these  ruins. 
Evidently  when  the  men  left,  these  pets  had  either 
remained  behind  or  returned.  And  now  they  were  as 
wild  as  their  much  feared  undomesticated  relatives,  the 
Canadian  lynxes,  although  of  diminutive  and  harmless 
size  as  compared  with  the  pussies  of  the  tasselled  ears. 

Farther  on  our  path  plunges  into  a  tall  and  ancient 
growth.  This  section  of  the  trail  is  exceptionally  beau- 
tiful, along  h  soft,  leaf-matted  road,  skirting  the  side 
of  Paugus,  and  with  a  precipitous  spur  of  Bald  oppo- 
site; while  at  our  feet  lies  the  Champney  valley.  For 
a  mile  or  more  we  pursue  this  course,  rising  higher 
and  higher  all  the  time.  Once  in  a  while,  when  a  rift 
in  the  foliage  permits,  we  look  back  and  obtain  frag- 
mentary views  of  distant  blue  mountains.  The  silence 
is  broken  by  the  murmur  and  splashing  of  the  brook. 

We  push  our  way  steadily  onward,  gaining  eleva- 
tion all  the  time.  High  above  the  brook-bed  we  are 
presently  confronted  by  a  "parting  of  the  ways."  To 
the  right  a  road  runs  off,  leading  to  the  crest  of  the 
hill  we  are  on.  This  is  not  our  road.  We  must  keep 
to  the  left,  climbing  over  a  long  stretch  of  old  cordu- 
roy road.  So  steep  is  the  pitch  of  this  hill,  whose  side 
we  are  slabbing,  that,  although  the  logs  of  the  old  cor- 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  135 

duroy  road  are  firmly  driven  into  the  ground  at  the 
right,  their  left  or  outer  ends  have  to  be  supported  by 
timbers  at  least  two  feet  high  above  the  ground,  to 
make  the  road-bed  level.  In  many  places  these  sup- 
ports have  rotted  or  been  burned  away,  and  the  logs 
have  either  fallen  down  or  been  left  projecting  into 
the  air.  Onward  still  we  go  until  the  road  brings  us 
up  to  the  brook  over  which  lie  the  charred  and  rotted 
remains  of  a  log  bridge.  Let  us  pause  here. 

From  below,  at  our  left,  rises  the  subdued  roar  of 
a  small  waterfall.  A  foot-path  leaves  the  lumber-road, 
following  down  the  side  of  the  brook  to  the  falls 
which  we  hear.  In  the  early  summer  of  i Q i  g  .a  fire 

*  jCJP5832-I^ 

raged  over  Bald,  the  eastern  shoulders  of  Paugus,  and 
apparently  was  checked  here,  although  on  the  opposite 
ridge  it  swept  on  for  some  distance.  Hundreds  of 
acres  were  burned  over,  and  many  magnificent  trees 
succumbed  to  its  flame.  Hence  with  not  a  little  care 
we  must  pick  our  way  over  and  around  charred  stumps 
and  logs,  blackened  boulders  and  red,  leafless  bushes. 

Now  we  stand  on  the  large  rock  at  the  foot  of  the 
falls.  This  fall,  called  the  Champney  Fall,  is  a  long 
thread  of  water,  tumbling  from  ledges  sixty  to  seventy 
feet  in  height  and  splashing  loudly  on  the  smooth 
broad  rock  at  its  base.  Owing  to  the  scarcity  of  water, 
especially  since  the  fire,  as  its  bed  above  is  now  unpro- 
tected from  the  sun,  this  stream  is  but  a  mere  thread. 
During  the  spring  freshets  these  falls  are  wonderful. 

A  short  distance  to  the  east,  and  now  in  plain  sight,  is 
another,  the  Pitcher  Fall,  exhibiting  rare  delicacy  of 
outline.  Of  this  fall  Professor  Huntington,  once  the 


136  Passaconaway 

state  geologist,  said:  "Not  a  dozen  rods  away,  but 
almost  hidden  by  the  trees,  we  discover  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  falls  in  New  Hampshire.  .  .  .  The 
sunbeams  fall  aslant  through  the  trees;  the  eye  fol- 
lows the  high  perpendicular  ledge  that  runs  at  right 
angles  to  the  stream,  and  through  the  leaves  of  the 
trees  we  can  see  the  small  stream  where  it  comes  over 
the  ledge,  then  it  falls  down,  striking  the  rock  that 
projects  just  enough  to  throw  the  water  in  spray,  and 
break,  for  an  instant  only,  the  continuity  of  the  stream. 
In  the  entire  fall  there  are  three  of  these  projections, 
where  the  water  is  thrown  in  spray,  and  after  the  con- 
tinuous fall  it  rests  in  a  great  basin,  where  it  flows  out 
and  runs  into  the  stream  we  have  followed."  n  By 
many  these  falls  are  collectively  known  as  the  Champ- 
ney  Falls,  but,  in  reality,  the  Champney  and  Pitcher 
are  two  different  falls,  one  being  located  on  the  main 
brook,  while  the  other  is  on  a  branch  which  flows  into 
the  Champney  at  this  point.  Having  gazed  upon  these 
picturesque  falls,  we  retrace  our  steps,  up  the  steep 
foot-path,  to  the  lumber-road  once  more.  And  a  sharp 
little  scramble  it  is,  too.  We  are  ready  for  a  few  min- 
utes' breathing-time  when  we  reach  the  road  again. 

Here,  where  the  lumber-road  crosses  the  brook,  we 
find  ourselves  in  a  cozy  nook  between  the  hills.  At 
our  very  feet  is  a  shady  little  pool  surrounded  by  moss- 
covered  ledges.  This  is  known  to  us  climbers  as  the 
"spring,"  although  it  is  not  properly  a  spring,  but 
only  a  little  basin  into  which  the  clear  water  flows 
from  its  rocky  bed.  Here  we  fill  our  canteens.  One 

"Quoted  in  Osgood:  White  Mountains,  342-3. 


Photo  by  Arthur  P.  Hunt 

THE  PITCHER  FALL 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  13? 

day,  while  returning  alone  from  the  summit  of  Choco- 
rua,  my  father  was  suddenly  greeted  by  the  sight  of  a 
"bob-cat"  at  this  very  point.  Happily  the  animal  dis- 
appeared as  quickly  as  he  had  appeared. 

Do  you  notice  that  smoothly  polished  rock  at  the 
edge  of  the  pool?  That  particular  rock  used  to  be 
covered  with  moss — I  remember  it  well.  When  a  very 
little  fellow,  I  was  sitting  on  it  one  day  when,  presto ! 
down  I  slid  into  the  water.  I  was  soaked  to  the  skin 
and  not  until  long  after  the  sunshiny  ledges  had  been 
gained  was  I  dry  and  comfortable  again. 

Roughly  we  estimate  the  "spring"  as  about  halfway 
between  the  town  road  and  Chocorua's  peak,  but  more 
than  half  the  work  is  still  ahead  of  us.  We  have  been 
comfortably  jogging  along  so  far,  rising  bit  by  bit,  but 
now  the  real  climb  begins.  We  go  through  a  short 
stretch  of  leafless,  charred  woods,  and  then  an  enor- 
mous open  patch  appears.  We  now  see  before  us  the 
northwestern  face  of  Bald  Mountain.  Some  years 
ago  this  area  was  stripped  by  the  lumbermen,  and,  be- 
cause of  the  impenetrable  tangle  of  dead  trees  and 
branches,  it  is  termed  the  "slashing." 

Here  used  to  grow  beautiful  tall  and  straight  trees, 
as  noble  trees  as  any  in  our  range.  Probably  scores  of 
King  George's  brigs  and  "seventy-fours"  were  indebted 
to  such  places  as  Chocorua's  "Cathedral  Woods"  for 
its  masts.12  After  the  mast-trade  ceased,  there  came 
the  lumberjack  and  the  hurricane,  and  lastly,  though 
not  least,  the  fire.  The  road  skirts  the  left  side  and 
runs  above  the  area  of  devastation. 

12  See  the  chapter  on  the  Mast  Trade  in  this  work. 


138  Passaconaivay 

Because  of  the  steepness  of  this  part  of  the  climb, 
frequent  rests  are  required,  and,  while  resting,  beauti- 
ful views  may  be  had.  The  sun  beats  down  in  full 
force,  but,  upon  our  recalling  the  chill  of  the  woods, 
Old  Sol  is  quite  welcome.  High  above  us  Bald's  ledges 
glisten,  and  above  them  the  fleecy  clouds,  floating  in  a 
pure  blue  sky,  present  such  a  picture  as  may  never  be 
seen  in  Chicago,  New  York,  or  any  other  city. 

Looking  to  the  north  and  west,  we  see  an  innumer- 
able company  of  mountains,  like  an  immense  herd  of 
rolling  blue  elephants.  Far  below  are  emerald  farms 
bespecked  with  houses,  the  town  road,  and  the  wrig- 
gling and  meandering  Swift  River  which  plays  hide- 
and-seek  with  the  road.  Perhaps  the  stillness  is  bro- 
ken by  a  shrill  whistle  or  cry,  and,  high  above  us,  we 
see  a  magnificent  eagle.  There  have  been  summers 
when  from  this  spot  we  have  repeatedly  seen  a  pair  of 
huge  eagles,  sometimes  near,  sometimes  far  away. 

As  we  rise  higher,  the  mountain  system  unfolds  it- 
self. To  the  north  and  west,  faint  blue  ridges  are 
ever  added  to  our  view.  Almost  at  our  feet  we  see  the 
precipitous  spur  of  Bald.  While  descending  at  about 
this  spot  in  the  summer  of  ijjMJjj  we  noticed  two  khaki- 
clad  objects  walking  about  amid  the  charred  and  red 
forest.  On  nearer  view,  they  turned  out  to  be  two 
large  deer.  We  watched  them  for  a  few  minutes,  un- 
til, taking  fright,  they  bounded  off  and  were  lost  to 
sight  in  the  charred  debris. 

Now  a  narrow  patch  of  woods  bars  our  approach 
to  the  ledges.  It  is  soon  traversed  and  we  arrive  at  a 
curving  ledge  upon  whose  top  we  see  a  white  sign- 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  139 

board  saying  "PATH."  From  here  on,  our  progress  is 
guided  by  piles  of  stones,  and  formerly  by  spots  of 
white  paint  also.  As  a  ledge  cannot  be  "blazed'' 
with  a  hatchet,  these  little  guide-posts  have  been 
erected  by  the  Appalachians.  We  make  our  way  for- 
ward, across  slippery  ledges,  over  patches  of  disinte- 
grated rock,  and  sometimes  along  a  tiny  path  closely 
fringed  with  blueberry  bushes  and  occasional  patches 
of  dwarf  trees. 

At  length  the  lofty  ridge  between  Paugus  and  Bald, 
which  connects  Chocorua  with  the  latter,  is  gained. 
Last  summer,  shortly  after  dinner,  we  noticed  that  the 
sky  had  suddenly  clouded  over.  As  usual,  we  had 
eaten  our  lunches  just  over  the  eastern  slope  of  the 
summit.  We  saw  a  storm  rapidly  approaching  and 
pouring  down  in  such  sheets  that  already  Passacon- 
away  had  been  blotted  out.  Instead  of  crawling  under 
the  "Cow,"  or  seeking  out  some  sheltering  ledge  or 
cave,  we  dashed  for  this  very  ridge.  For  a  thick  stunted 
growth  is  here  so  closely  matted  together  that,  by 
crawling  under  it,  one  is  almost  rain-proof.  No  sooner 
had  we  made  ourselves  secure  in  this  shelter  than,  with 
the  fury  of  a  mountain  demon,  the  storm  broke.  Did 
it  hail  and  pour?  I  never  saw  anything  like  it.  A  party 
of  Appalachians,  I  think,  returning  by  the  Piper  Trail, 
passed  within  fifty  feet  of  us;  we  could  hear  their  con- 
versation plainly,  yet  they  did  not  see  us.  They  hur- 
ried by,  tightly  clutching  their  coat  collars  and  strug- 
gling against  the  driving  rain  and  gale.  I  need  not 
say  that  even  before  the  storm  raged  five  minutes  these 
luckless  climbers  were  thoroughly  drenched.  Half  an 


140  Passaconaway 

hour  later,  the  sun  again  beat  upon  us  and  we  left  our 
cozy  shelters,  warm  and  dry.  Looking  east,  towards 
Conway,  we  saw  a  beautiful  triple  rainbow,  the  left 
end  of  which  seemed  to  rest  in  Walker's  Pond,  while 
the  other  was  near  the  Madison  station.  All  three 
bows  were  perfect  in  outline  and  coloring. 

The  few  remaining  rods  are  quickly  crossed,  and 
we  stand  upon  the  northern  and  lesser  summit  of  Cho- 
corua.  From  here  a  noble  view  may  be  had,  much 
like  that  from  the  peak,  except  southward.  Before 
us  looms  Chocorua,  dark  and  forbidding,  as  if  the 
weather  had  darkened  it — like  a  battleship — to  conceal 
it  from  its  adversaries.  Says  Ward:  "I  know  nothing 
more  wildly  beautiful  or  more  unique  in  the  White 
Mountains  than  this  immense  granite  shaft  which  sud- 
denly presents  itself  when,  in  the  ascent,  the  crest  of 
Bald  is  reached,  or  which  seems  to  rise  straight  into 
the  sky  from  the  south.  The  appearance  is  more 
massive  and  more  grand  than  when  you  see  it  from 
the  level  of  the  summits  in  the  distance.  Here  it  rises 
in  front  of  you  to  a  height  of  perhaps  eight  hundred 
feet  almost  straight  into  the  air,  without  a  tree,  or 
hardly  a  bit  of  scrub,  to  relieve  the  weather-beaten 
granite  cliffs,  which  are  so  steep  that  without  the  aid 
of  man  the  peak  would  be  almost  unreachable.  .  .  . 
I  know  not  anywhere  a  cliff  that  rises  sheer  into  the 
sky  with  such  abruptness  and  massiveness  as  the  chief 
peak  of  Chocorua  which  towers  almost  over  your  head 
when  you  are  at  the  base  of  its  principal  elevation."  13 
I  should  advise  all  trampers  and  photographers  wish- 

18 Ward:  White  Mountains,  144-5. 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  I41 

ing  to  take  away  with  them  adequate  memories  and  pic- 
tures of  Chocorua,  that  they  fail  not  to  view  the 
peak  from  this  northern  spur.  The  views  from  the 
southern  approach  are  not  complete  without  this  other. 

But  this  castellated  promontory  is  not  the  summit. 
Our  real  conquest  is  still  ahead  of  us.  The  main  for- 
tress must  yet  be  stormed.  We  cross  the  ridge,  de- 
scend into  the  little  ravine,  and  soon  reach  the  spring. 
This  is  marked  by  a  white  cross  painted  on  a  flat  shel- 
tering rock  facing  the  north,  overhanging  the  tiny  pool 
below.  Over  massive  blocks  of  granite,  through  cre- 
vasses and  up  cracks  in  rocks  we  scramble,  and  shortly 
reach  a  little  circular  path  leading  to  the  summit.  At 
last,  all  breathless,  we  reach  our  goal.  Here  upon 
the  very  topmost  rock — about  as  large  as  a  good- 
sized  dining-table 14 — we  find  a  sixty-foot  flag-pole, 
firmly  guyed  to  the  rocks,  and  from  which  on  excep- 
tionally calm  days  float  the  "Stars  and  Stripes."  The 
fire  warden,  residing  in  a  tiny  camp  on  the  southwest 
side,  is  the  "color  guard."  Also  a  circular  stand  is  at- 
tached to  this  peak.  The  pole  and  stand  were  recently 
erected.  The  circular  stand  formerly  held  a  map 
which  included  all  the  country  visible  from  Chocorua 
— of  inestimable  value  to  the  tourist.  Whether  the 
wind  or  some  human  vandal  removed  this  map  I  know 
not,  but  it  is  no  longer  there. 

One  of  the  best  views  in  the  entire  White  Moun- 
tains may  be  enjoyed  from  Chocorua.  Many  descrip- 
tions of  the  skyline  have  been  written.  Those  who 
make  the  ascent  will  find  the  following  account  from 

"Compare  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  70. 


142  Passaconaway 

Osgood  comprehensive  and  accurate: — "On  the  west, 
below  and  adjoining  Chocorua,  are  the  ledges  on 
Paugus,  whose  top  is  nearly  level,  and  has  no  peak. 
Over  its  right  side  is  the  dark  and  prominent  Passa- 
conaway, falling  off  sharply  on  the  right;  and  over  its 
long  southern  flank,  across  the  upper  clearings  of 
Sandwich,  is  Mt.  Israel,  rising  behind  the  low  cone  of 
Young  Mt.,  Mt.  Wonalancet  being  in  the  foreground, 
south  of  Paugus.  On  the  right  of  Israel,  and  much 
higher,  is  the  dark  mass  of  Sandwich  Dome.  White- 
face  is  nearly  west,  on  the  left  of  and  adjoining  Pass- 
aconaway. On  the  right  of  and  beyond  Passacon- 
away is  the  long  and  many-headed  ridge  of  Tripyra- 
mid,  beyond  which  are  the  sharp  peaks  of  Tecumseh 
and  Osceola,  the  latter  being  seen  on  the  left  of  the 
white  mound  of  Potash,  which  is  below  in  the  Swift 
River  Valley.  Much  farther  away  in  this  direction 
(west  by  north)  is  the  high  plateau  of  Moosilauke, 
over  the  Blue  Ridge.  About  northwest,  towards  Mt. 
Hancock,  is  the  square-topped  mass  of  Green's  Cliff; 
and  the  high  spires  of  the  Franconia  Range  rise  on 
the  distant  horizon,  with  the  gray  sierra  of  Lafayette 
most  conspicuous.  On  the  right  of  Hancock  is  the 
imposing  pile  of  Mt.  Carrigain,  looming  up  boldly  out 
of  the  Pemigewasset  Forest;  and  on  its  eastern  side  is 
the  sharply  cut  and  profound  gorge  of  the  Carrigain 
Notch,  through  which  a  part  of  Mount  Bond  range  is 
seen.  Close  on  the  right  of  the  Carrigain  Notch  is 
the  remarkably  pointed  peak  of  Mt.  Lowell,  flanked 
on  the  right  by  Mts.  Anderson  and  Nancy,,  on  the 
same  ridge.  Under  this  range  is  Tremont,  with  its 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  143 

highest  point  between  Anderson  and  Nancy;  and  Mt. 
Hale  appears  over  Anderson.  On  the  right  of  Tre- 
mont,  and  near  it,  is  the  sharp  crest  of  Bartlett  Hay- 
stack; and  between  and  far  beyond  Tremont  and  Hay- 
stack are  Mts^  Willey  and  Field.  The  purple  cliffs 
of  Mt.  Willard  are  over  the  crest  of  Haystack,  in  the 
White  Mt.  Notch,  through  which  a  part  of  Mt.  De- 
ception is  seen. 

"About  north-northwest,  six  miles  distant  across  the 
Swift  River  Valley,  is  the  long  ridge  of  Bear  Mt., 
covered  with  woods,  and  on  the  right  of  Haystack. 
Between  Haystack  and  Bear  are  seen  the  richly  col- 
ored stripes  on  the  side  of  Mt.  Webster.  Farther  to 
the  right,  over  Bear,  is  Mt.  Clinton,  below  which  is 
the  red  crest  of  Crawford,  with  Resolution  and  Giant's 
Stairs  on  its  right.  Mt.  Pleasant  is  over  the  right  of 
Bear  showing  a  round  and  dome-like  crest,  beyond  and 
above  which  are  Franklin  and  Monroe,  west-of- 
north  of  Chocorua.  The  houses  on  Mt.  Washington 
are  about  north,  between  Mts.  Parker  and  Langdon, 
beyond  the  Saco,  and  Bear  and  Table  Mts.,  north  of 
the  Swift  River.  Table  is  the  mountain  on  the  right 
of  Bear,  in  the  same  ridge,  and  Iron  Mt.  is  over  its 
flank.  Above  Iron  is  the  deep  cleft  of  the  Pinkham 
Notch,  through  which  Mt.  Madison  is  seen.  On  the 
right  of  and  adjoining  Table  is  the  long  imposing 
ridge  of  Moat  Mt.,  over  whose  northern  peak  are 
the  crests  of  Thorn  Mt.  and  Double-Head,  with  Bald- 
face  lifting  its  white  ledges  beyond.  The  pyramid  of 
Kearsarge  rises  above  the  southern  peak  of  Moat,  and 
is  marked  by  a  house;  and  the  rocky  mounds  of  the 


144  Passaconaway 

Eagle  Ledge  and  the  Albany  Haystack  are  across  the 
Swift  River,  toward  the  southern  peak.  To  the  right 
of  and  south  of  Kearsarge  are  Blackcap,  Middle  Mt., 
and  others  of  the  Green  Hills  of  Conway,  with  the 
clearings  of  North  Fryeburg  and  Lovell  visible 
through  their  gaps. 

"The  character  of  the  view  now  changes  from  a 
tumultuously  upheaved  land  of  mountains  to  populous 
plains,  dotted  with  hamlets  and  ponds,  and  diversified 
here  and  there  by  low  ridges.  The  white  Conway 
road  runs  north  along  the  base  of  Chocorua,  curving 
away  from  its  formidable  rocky  flanks  and  lined  with 
farms.  The  beautiful  meadows  of  the  Saco  emerge 
from  behind  Moat  Mt.,  and  pass  away  to  the  east  in 
graceful  bends.  The  fair  village  of  Fryeburg  is  about 
fifteen  miles  east-northeast,  on  the  left  of  and  beyond 
which  are  the  bright  waters  of  Kezar,  Upper  Kezar, 
Upper  Moose,  and  Long  Ponds.  Lovewell's  Pond 
is  close  to  Fryeburg,  on  the  right.  Nearer  at  hand  is 
the  bright  hamlet  of  Conway  Corner,  at  the  conflu- 
ence of  the  Swift  and  Saco  rivers.  Farther  out  in 
this  direction  is  Mt.  Pleasant,  a  long  and  rolling  ridge 
which  uplifts  a  white  hotel  near  its  centre.  On  the 
right  of  Conway,  due  east,  is  the  broad  mirror  of 
Walker's  Pond,  over  which  are  the  Frost  and  Burnt- 
Meadow  Mts.,  in  Brownfield.  Farther  to  the  right, 
over  Cragged  Mt.  and  the  hills  of  Hiram  and  Sebago, 
is  the  broad  gleam  of  Sebago  Lake.  To  the  east- 
southeast  the  view  passes  over  the  Gline  and  Lyman 
Mts.,  and  across  the  counties  of  lowland  Maine,  to 
the  city  of  Portland,  at  the  gates  of  the  sea.  On  a 


Chocorua' s  Horn  and  Legend  145 

clear  day  a  wide  extent  of  the  ocean  can  be  seen  in 
this  direction,  and  extending  away  to  the  right.  Far- 
ther to  the  right,  over  the  adjacent  Whitton  Pond, 
are  the  distant  hills  of  Cornish  and  Limington;  and 
nearly  southeast,  over  the  hamlet  of  Madison,  is  Mt. 
Prospect,  in  Freedom.  About  one  mile  from  Madi- 
son, and  six  miles  from  Chocorua,  is  the  broad  oval 
of  Silver  Lake,  with  the  formless  ridge  of  the  Green 
Mt.  in  Effingham  over  it.  The  ampler  sheet  of  Os- 
sipee  Lake  is  to  the  right  of  and  beyond  Silver  Lake, 
and  on  its  right,  far  out  on  the  horizon,  over  the  hills 
of  North  Wolfborough,  is  the  crest  of  Copple  Crown. 
"Chocorua  Lake  is  close  to  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain, on  the  south,  with  its  gracefully  curving  sandy 
beaches,  bordered  with  trees;  and  the  white  Chocorua 
Lake  House  is  on  the  hill  beyond,  towards  the  hamlet 
of  Tamworth  Iron  Works,  with  its  tall-spired  church. 
In  the  plain  beyond  are  the  hamlets  of  Tamworth  Cen- 
tre, South  Tamworth,  and  West  Ossipee,  and  the 
White  and  Elliot  Ponds.  Then  comes  the  long  Os- 
sipee Range,  filling  the  horizon  from  south  to  south- 
southwest,  with  the  ledgy  sides  of  the  Whittier  Peak, 
below  South  Tamworth.  The  twin  Belknap  peaks 
peer  over  the  Ossipee  Mts.  and  are  clearly  seen.  On 
the  right  of  the  range  are  portions  of  Moultonbor- 
ough  Bay,  Lake  Winnepesaukee,  and  Northwest  Bay, 
studded  with  islets  and  divided  by  peninsulas.  The 
Bearcamp  and  Red-Hill  Ponds  are  next  seen,  with 
the  hamlet  of  Sandwich  Lower  Corner,  beyond  which 
rises  the  double  swell  of  Red  Hill.  About  southwest, 
over  the  white  village  of  Centre  Sandwich,  is  the  ex- 


146  Passaconaway 

quisite  beauty  of  Squam  Lake,  with  its  blue  bosom 
dotted  with  wooded  islands.  The  sharp  crest  of  Kear- 
sarge  is  over  its  left  part;  the  Bridgewater  Hills  are 
over  the  centre;  and  Mt.  Prospect,  near  Plymouth,  is 
farther  to  the  right"  15 

On  the  verge  of  the  eastern  slope  of  Chocorua  is 
an  approximately  cubical  rock  which  is  called  the 
"Cow."  It  rests  upon  a  narrow,  saucer-shaped  shelf. 
Under  it  there  is  a  space  several  feet  long  and  about 
a  foot  and  a  half  high,  which  has  sheltered  many  a 
traveler  during  the  wild  mountain  storms.16  I  have 
tried  in  vain  to  discover  its  resemblance  to  a  cow.  I 
do  not  know  why  a  rock  of  this  shape  should  be  called 
a  "cow."  It  looks  more  like  a  liberty-cap  than  a  cow, 
and  if  I  were  naming  it,  I  should  call  it  "Liberty  Cap." 
Such  a  name,  too,  would  commemorate  the  one  who 
made  a  trail  up  here  and  first  tried  the  experiment  of 
maintaining  a  "Peak  House,"  later  carried  on  so  suc- 
cessfully by  Mr.  Knowles.  This  pioneer  was  "Jim" 
Liberty,  better  known  as  "Dutch"  Liberty,  concern- 
ing whom  I  shall  have  more  to  say  later. 

After  drinking  in  the  wonderful  view,  let  us  eat 
our  dinner  near  the  Cow,  where  we  are  protected  from 
the  strong  northwest  winds  by  the  summit.  Here, 
amid  blueberries  and  sunshine,  we  may  turn  our  at- 
tention to  an  entirely  different  feature  of  this  moun- 
tain— the  feature  without  which  no  mountain  is  really 
complete — its  history,  or,  at  least,  its  thrilling  legend. 

"Osgood:  White  Mountains,  339-341. 

"See   Eastman:   East   of   the   White   Hills,   40-41;    Bolles:   At   the 
North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  68. 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  147 

Chocorua  was  a  real  Indian.  An  old  settler  of 
Tamworth,  Joseph  Gilman,  often  used  to  converse 
with  an  older  pioneer  who  had  been  on  intimate  terms 
with  the  Indian.17  There  are  several  entirely  differ- 
ent versions  of  the  Chocorua  legend,  all  agreeing, 
however,  on  the  chieftain's  death  here.  The  Albany 
records  have  burned,  so  that  nothing  may  be  learned 
from  that  source.  But  I  will  give  the  legend  in  the 
forms  in  which  it  usually  appears.  It  has  been  said 
that  Whittier  deemed  the  legend  too  sad  to  put  into 
verse.18 

Perhaps  the  commonest  version  is  that  given  by 
Lydia  Maria  Child,  as  follows: — At  a  late  period  in 
the  history  of  the  Indians  around  Conway  and  Al- 
bany, Chocorua  was  among  the  few  remaining  red 
men.  His  son,  nine  or  ten  years  old,  became  intimate 
with  the  family  of  Cornelius  Campbell,  a  Scot  who 
had  fled  from  the  wrath  of  the  Stuarts.  One  day 
the  little  Indian  lad  swallowed  some  poison,  which 
Campbell  had  scattered  about  his  cabin  to  kill  a  trou- 
blesome fox,  and  went  home  to  his  father  to  die. 
Chocorua,  perhaps  naturally,  blamed  Campbell,  and, 
during  the  absence  of  the  latter,  he  murdered  the 
Scot's  family. 

The  Albany  settler  tracked  the  Indian  to  the  sum- 
mit of  the  present  Mount  Chocorua  and  called  upon 
the  fugitive  either  to  throw  himself  into  the  abyss 
below  or  be  shot.  To  this  Chocorua  made  reply: 
1  'The  Great  Spirit  gave  life  to  Chocorua  and  Cho- 

17  Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  106. 

"See  J.  Warren  Tyn^in  Granite  State  Magazine,  III,  186. 


148  Passaconaway 

corua  will  not  throw  it  away  at  the  command  of  the 
white  man.'  'Then  hear  the  Great  Spirit  speak  in 
the  white  man's  thunder!'  exclaimed  Cornelius  Camp- 
bell. .  .  .  Chocorua,  though  fierce  and  fearless  as  a 
panther,  had  never  overcome  his  dread  of  fire-arms. 
He  placed  his  hands  upon  his  ears,  to  shut  out  the 
stunning  report;  the  next  moment  the  blood  bubbled 
from  his  neck,  and  he  reeled  fearfully  on  the  edge  of 
the  precipice.  But  he  recovered  himself,  and,  raising 
himself  on  his  hand,  he  spoke  in  a  loud  voice,  that 
grew  more  terrific  as  its  huskiness  increased,  'A  curse 
upon  ye,  white  men!  May  the  Great  Spirit  curse  ye 
when  he  speaks  in  the  clouds,  and  his  words  are  fire! 
Chocorua  had  a  son,  and  ye  killed  him  while  the  sky 
looked  bright!  Lightning  blast  your  crops!  Winds 
and  fire  destroy  your  dwellings!  The  Evil  Spirit 
breathe  death  upon  your  cattle!  Your  graves  lie  in 
the  war-path  of  the  Indian !  Panthers  howl  and 
wolves  fatten  upon  your  bones !  Chocorua  goes  to 
the  Great  Spirit, — but  his  curse  stays  with  the  white 
man!'"19 

Drake's  version  of  the  legend  makes  Chocorua  de- 
fiantly spring  from  the  rock  into  the  unfathomable 
abyss  below,  before  the  appalled  hunter  can  fire  a 

19Lydia  Maria  Child,  quo.  in  Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  His- 
tory, 272-6;  Starr  King:  The  White  Hills,  Their  Legends,  Landscape 
and  Poetry,  145-49;  Eastman:  East  of  the  White  Hills,  41-47;  Bent:  A 
Bibliography  of  the  White  Mts.,  index,  ''Chocorua";  Musgrove:  The 
White  Hills  in  Poetry,  340-1;  Caverly:  The  Bride  of  Burton;  David 
H.  Hill's  poem  on  Chocorua,  in  Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County, 
N.  H.,  117-124. 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  149 

shot.20 

For  years  after,  as  will  be  shown  in  another  chap- 
ter, the  country  seemed  to  have  fallen  under  this 
curse. 

A  second  legend,  very  similar  to  the  first,  describes 
Chocorua  as  a  chief  of  the  Ossipees,  who  loved  his 
native  land  too  well  to  leave  it.  With  a  small  band 
he  held  this  mountain  as  an  observation  post.  Here 
rangers,  in  quest  of  the  bounty  for  scalps  offered  by 
the  Massachusetts  Government,  destroyed  his  band 
and  pursued  their  chief  to  the  summit,  where  he 
pleaded  his  friendliness  to  the  English  and  offered 
himself  as  prisoner.  But  the  blood-money  was  too 
tempting  and  the  white  men  were  inexorable.  Cho- 
corua, flinging  forth  his  terrible  curse,  leaped  from  the 
dizzy  height. 

A  third  tradition,  in  all  probability  less  authentic 
than  the  others,  says  that  in  1761,  long  after  Love- 
well's  Fight,  when  the  power  of  the  Pequawkets  had 
been  broken  and  they,  together  with  the  Ossipees,  had 
fled  to  Saint  Francis  in  Canada,  Chocorua  returned, 
seeking  revenge,  and  was  shot  on  this  mountain.21 

Charles  J.  Fox  has  embodied  the  legend  in  verse, 
as  follows: — 

*°  Drake:  The  Heart  of  the  White  Mountains,  22-4;  New  England 
Legends  and  Folk-Lore,  469-472. 

"Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  116;  Osgood,  341;  Charlton: 
New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  89. 


150  Passaconaway 

"DEATH  OF  CHOCORUA 

"On  the  cliff's  extremest  brow 
Fearless  stands  Chocorua  now; 
Last  of  all  his  tribe,  and  he 
Doomed  to  death  of  cruelty. 
O'er  the  broad  green  vales  that  lie 
Far  beneath,  he  cast  his  eye.  .  .  . 

"  'Lands  where  lived  and  died  my  sires, 
Where  they  built  their  council-fires ; 
Where  they  roamed  and  knew  no  fear, 
Till  the  dread  white-man  drew  near; 
Once  when  swelled  the  war-cry  round, 
Flocked  a  thousand  to  the  sound; 
But  the  white  men  came,  and  they 
Like  the  leaves  have  passed  away. 

"  'Wo  to  them  who  seek  to  spoil 
The  red  owners  of  the  soil ! 
Wo  to  all  who  on  this  spot 
Fell  the  groves,  or  build  the  cot! 
Blighted  be  the  grass  that  springs! 
Blighted  be  all  living  things! 
And  the  pestilence  extend, 
'Till  Chocorua's  curse  shall  end!' 

"On  his  murderers  turned  he  then; 
Eyes  shall  ever  haunt  those  men  ; 
Up  to  heaven  a  look  he  cast, 
And  around — beneath — his  last! 
Far  down  and  lone,  his  bones  are  strewn, 
The  sky  his  pall,  his  bed  of  stone."  " 

It  was  "Jim"  Liberty  who  made  the  pioneer  experi- 
ment of  running  a  hotel  high  up  in  the  sky,  on  the 

"Charles  James  Fox:  Death  of  Chocorua,  in  Charles  J.  Fox  and 
Samuel  Osgood:  New  Hampshire  Book,  208-9;  see  a'so  Musgrove: 
The  White  Hills  in  Poetry,  115-6. 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  151 

shoulder  of  Chocorua.  Later  the  "Chocorua  Peak 
House"  was  purchased  by  Mr.  David  Knowles.2^ 
Once,  when  spending  a  memorable  night  at  the  Peak 
House,  I  saw  the  venerable  Liberty,  who  at  that  time 
was  doing  some  work  for  Mr.  Knowles.  Liberty 
built  a  good  carriage-road  to  his  Half-way  House. 
From  that  point,  the  trip  to  the  Peak  House  was 
made  afoot  or  on  horseback.  The  old  Frenchman,  in 
guiding  parties  from  the  Peak  House  up  to  the  sum- 
mit (for  the  Peak  House  is  not  on  the  very  top  of  the 
mountain  but  at  the  base  of  its  conical  rock  apex) , 
used  to  go  barefoot  in  order  to  secure  a  firm  foothold 
upon  the  slippery  ledges.  He  would  tie  ropes  around 
the  timid  and  weak  ones,  to  assist  them  over  the  most 
dangerous  places  in  the  trail. 

A  clipping  from  an  old  newspaper  gives  us  a 
graphic  picture  of  "Jim"  Liberty:  "It  was  at  the  old 
Half-way  House,  a  little  pine  board  shack  in  the  heart 
of  the  black  growth  that  binds  with  a  grasp  like  iron 
the  belt  of  Chocorua,  most  picturesque  of  mountains 
in  the  White  Hills. 

"Mrs.  Liberty  laid  aside  her  dish  towel  and  came 
out  and  stood  on  the  steps. 

"  'Be  this  your  first  visit  up  Chocoruay?'  she  asked 
pleasantly.  'Well,  you  all  must  come  in  an'  rest  yer- 
selves.  Mountain  climbin'  ain't  so  easy  as  it  looks, 
leastways  Chocoruay  ain't — won't  you  all  have  a 
drink  of  water?  You  be  the  first  folks  so  far  this 
mornin',  but  ain't  a  day  we  don't  have  near  fifty,  an' 
sometimes  more'n  that.  They  comes  from  all  parts. 

"See  Rollins:  Tourists'  Guide-Book,  N.  H.,  131. 


152  Passaconaway 

You  all  will  see  'em  comin'  by  an'  by.  Be  you  goin' 
clear  to  th'  peak?'  She  put  a  stick  of  silver  birch  on 
the  fire.  'Wall,  now,  but  you  got  a  fine  day  for  it.  I 
guess  it  be  right  smart  windy  up  along  the  peak,  but 
all  the  folks  who  come  around  here  says  they  wouldn't 
miss  Chocoruay,  not  for  nothinV 

"The  little  white-haired  old  woman  sat  down  by 
the  window  and  folded  her  hands.  How  the  wind 
whistling  through  the  cracks  in  the  boarcls  brought 
with  it  sweet  odor  of  the  pines.  A  mountain  stream, 
water  clear  as  dew  and  white  and  cold  as  frost,  ran 
away  from  the  house  towards  the  far-away  lake,  Cho- 
corua  Lake.  .  .  . 

"Straight  from  the  back  door  of  the  Half-way 
House  up  the  mountain  side,  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
trees,  wound  the  trail,  the  'Liberty  Trail.' 

'  'You'll  find  it  muddy  to-day,  I  guess,'  went  on  the 
old  lady,  'in  parts;  but,  law,  it's  all  kind  of  ways  goin' 
up  a  mountain,  some  mud,  some  corduroy,  some  har- 
ricane,  an'  some  rocks — good  many  rocks,  but  Lib- 
erty an'  me,  we  keep  it  up  pretty  well;  ain't  no  com- 
plainin',  an'  it  wa'nt  easy.  How  long  I  been  here? 
Well,  I  ain't  been  here  only  since  I  merried  Liberty, 
but  he's  been  here  goin'  on  more'n  thirty  years,  an' 
long  'fore  that  he  made  the  road  up  Chocoruay. 
Lonely?  Wall,  a  lots  o'  city  folks  here  in  summer 
time,  you  know,  an'  long  after  till  the  last  of  October, 
but  then  by  the  time  winter  shets  in  thar's  never  a 
livin'  soul,  'cept  maybe  a  party  comin'  fer  lumber 
oncet  in  a  while.  But  I  ain't  complainin'.  I  says  to 
myself:  "God  give  me  good  health  an'  a  roof  ter 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  153 

cover  me,  an'  He  put  me  down  here  on  Chocoruay 
Mountain,  an'  here  I  am  ter  stay."  Here  comes  Lib- 
erty now.  I  guess  he'll  put  up  your  teams.' 

"Dutch  Liberty  is  a  little  old  man  'going  on  nigh 
seventy-five.'  'I  look  after  ze  teams — for  pay,'  said 
he,  pushing  back  his  slouch  hat  from  his  bristling 
gray  eyebrows,  'an'  I  haf  to  see  zat  ever  one,  he  give 
his  toll!'  'Dutch'  Liberty  is  a  French-Canadian,  de- 
scended from  one  of  the  early  coureurs  de  bois,  so 
many  of  whom  made  up  the  first  explorers  of  New 
Hampshire,  as  well  as  the  great  Northwest.  Liberty 
is  called  Dutch  by  his  Yankee  brethren  because  his 
English  is  so  lame  and  halting,  and  up  here  any  kind 
of  broken  English  or  incomprehensible  temperament 
is  called  Dutch.  Then,  too,  there  was  another  reason. 
After  Liberty  first  opened  his  trail  up  Mount  Cho- 
corua,  he  placed  a  signboard  on  one  of  the  blazed  trees 
with  a  hand  roughly  drawn  in  charcoal  inscribed: 
'Dot  vay,'  and  'that  be  Dutch,'  folks  around  here  said, 
'so  Liberty  be  a  Dutchman.'  He  is,  however,  in  his 
disposition  to  exact  his  dues,  true-bred  Yankee.  .  .  . 

"  'Which  ever  ze  way  you  go,'  observed  Dutch  Lib- 
erty, 'be  he  to  ze  right  or  be  he  to  ze  lef,  you  weesh 
to  God  you  took  ze  other,  so  ees  he  not  all  ze  same 
thing?'"24 

Let  us  take  the  precipitous  path  down  to  Mr. 
Knowles'  Peak  House,  for  it  would  be  a  great  pity  to 
leave  the  mountain  without  visiting  this  unique  hos- 
telry in  sky-land.  Picking  our  way  downward,  by  the 
help  of  an  occasional  railing,  and  here  and  there  a 

"Ethel  Marie  Armes  in  Boston  Transcript,  1902— probably. 


154  Passaconaway 

short  flight  of  stairs,  we  catch  glimpses  of  the  house. 
Upon  closer  observation  we  see  steel  cables  running 
over  the  roof  and  anchoring  it  to  the  rock.  On  the 
night  when  our  tent  blew  down,  and  when  the  Passa- 
conaway House  barn-door  blew  off,  all  of  these  cables 

except  one  snapped.  Had  that  gone 1  Not  long 

ago  Mr.  Knowles  built  a  large  addition,  a  one-story 
dining-hall,  which  he  thought  it  would  be  unnecessary 
to  cable  down.  The  following  winter,  I  think,  he  spent 
abroad,  and,  upon  returning,  found  his  dining-hall 
scattered  all  over  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountain. 

Our  delighted  eyes  are  greeted  with  gorgeous  sun- 
set views  over  the  western  mountains  and  the  lake- 
country.  Some  people  prefer  to  view  the  sunset  from 
the  peak  but  that  necessitates  a  descent  in  semi-dark- 
ness, which  is  not  pleasant  and  is  somewhat  dangerous. 
I  recall  a  lover  of  sunset  scenes  who,  some  years  ago, 
under  great  difficulties,  was  satisfying  his  desire.  A 
horse  brought  him  up  from  the  lower  world  to  the  Peak 
House.  This  man  was  a  cripple,  the  unfortunate  vic- 
tim of  some  trouble  necessitating  the  continual  use  of 
crutches.  Shortly  before  six  o'clock  he  disappeared, 
and  all  search  was  fruitless;  but  after  seven  o'clock  we 
saw  him,  in  the  fast  waning  light,  swinging  himself 
down  from  ledge  to  ledge  as  he  came  from  the  summit, 
a  very  difficult  feat  for  an  able-bodied  man  in  broad 
daylight. 

Let  me  recall  a  night  in  the  Peak  House.  The  roar- 
ing wind,  which  fairly  rocks  our  mountain  shelter, 
causes  the  carpet  to  roll  in  waves  like  billows  on  a 
storm-lashed  sea.  We  gladly  respond  to  the  supper 


Chocorua's  Horn  and  Legend  155 

bell,  and  with  zest  devour  steak  and  potatoes  and  Mr. 
Knowles'  far-famed  hot  blueberry  pie.  Soon  darkness 
envelopes  the  house.  We  study  the  twinkling  lights  of 
far-off  Portland  for  a  time,  then,  wearied  with  our 
climb,  we  retire  and  speedily  fall  asleep. 

Next  morning  before  four  o'clock  the  bright  tints 
of  the  eastern  sky  prophesy  the  coming  of  a  new  day. 
Before  five  the  gorgeous  sun  begins  to  come  into  view 
over  Mount  Pleasant,  Maine.  "Are  we  on  the  ocean?" 
we  ask  ourselves,  for  all  beneath  us  is  hidden  in  a 
white  impenetrable  curtain  of  cloud,  above  which  the 
mountain  peaks,  here  and  there,  appear  as  islands  on 
a  boiling  sea.  The  entire  earth  seems  to  be  passing 
through  an  all-encompassing  flood,  with  only  the  lofty 
peaks  unsubmerged.  This  scene  is  short-lived,  for,  no 
sooner  has  Old  Sol  come  out  in  his  dazzling  brightness 
than  the  clouds  rise  in  perpendicular  columns  and  pres- 
ently vanish  in  the  thin  air.  While  beholding  this  scene 
one  exclaims,  "Transported  with  the  view,  I  am  lost 
in  wonder  and  praise."  25 

At  half-past  seven  the  breakfast  bell  again  welcomes 
us  to  the  dining-room.  We  enjoy  our  meal  of  ham 
and  eggs,  after  which  we  select  some  mountain  post 
cards,  and  souvenirs  made  by  the  Bartlett  Indians, 
which  mine  host  keeps  on  sale.  Then,  shouldering  our 
packs,  we  bid  adieu  to  the  picturesque  "Knowles' 
Knoll,"  and,  in  a  couple  of  hours,  say  farewell  to  Mount 
Chocorua  itself  until  another  summer,  in  our  hearts 
most  cordially  indorsing  the  sentiment  of  Mr.  Whittier 
which  he  once  expressed  in  a  letter  to  the  artist,  J. 

*  Granite  Monthly,  XLII,  275. 


156  Passaconaway 

Warren  IVng-  "I  sympathize  with  thec  in  thy  love 
for  tSeNew  Hampshire  hills,  and  Chocorua  is  the 
most  beautiful  and  striking  of  all."  26 

Since  writing  the  foregoing  description  of  a  night  on 
Chocorua,  I  have  learned  that  the  Peak  House  has  been 
blown  to  pieces.  It  was  on  September  26,  1915,  that 
the  building  was  destroyed.  The  steel  cables  did  not 
snap  this  time,  but,  in  spite  of  these,  the  boards  and 
beams  were  torn  one  from  another  and  wafted  out 
like  straws  over  the  valley.  Happily  the  house  was 
unoccupied  at  the  time  of  its  destruction.  In  all  prob- 
ability a  new  hotel  will  be  erected  without  delay. 

The  altitude  of  Mt.  Chocorua  is  3,508  feet.27 

28  See    Musgrove:    White    Hills     in    Poetry,     338.      Granite    State 
Magazine,  III,  94. 

"A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  Paths  in  the  White  Mountains,   1916,   311. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE    NORTHERN    SKY-LINE 

LOOKING  northward  from  the  upper  end  of  the 
Albany  Intervale,  a  charming  picture  is  seen.  In 
the  foreground  lie  the  level  meadows,  terminating  at 
the  sandy  beach  of  the  Swift  River.  Tall  trees  artis- 
tically fringe  the  farther  bank  of  the  winding  stream. 
Then  the  deep  forest  begins,  for  a  short  space  stretch- 
ing over  level  ground  and  then  rising  until,  at  length, 
the  silver-threaded  crest  of  Birch  Ridge  is  gained.  As 
a  fitting  background  to  this  restful  foreground  is  an 
imposing  semicircle  of  mountains  reaching  from  Bear 
to  Hitchcock.  These  peaks,  some  light  green,  others 
covered  with  dark  growth  and  still  others  a  deep  pur- 
ple or  blue,  here  and  there  displaying  a  ledge  or  rocky 
summit,  form  what  is  considered  by  many  one  of  the 
most  thoroughly  satisfying  and  typical  mountain  sky- 
lines in  New  Hampshire. 

In  the  eastern  corner,  over  whose  southern  shoulders 
the  first  glow  of  dawn  appears,  lies  Bear  Mountain, 
between  the  valleys  of  the  Saco  and  the  Swift.1  Ap- 
propriately indeed  was  this  wilderness  monster  named. 
The  dark  furry  back,  well  rounded,  and  humpy  near 
the  shoulders,  the  little  ridge  of  fur  rising  on  the  wrin- 
kled neck,  and  the  bent  head  smothered  in  its  massive 

'Compare  Osgood's:  White  Mts.,  128. 
157 


158  Passaconaway 

paws,  easily  shapes  itself  into  a  great  bear  in  repose. 

Of  course  all  depends  upon  the  viewpoint.  From 
the  town  road  at  the  base  of  Bear,  the  mountain  ap- 
pears precipitous  and  angular;  while  from  our  end  of 
the  intervale,  southwesterly  from  Bear,  not  a  sharp 
angle  is  seen.  Its  surface  is  all  smooth  knobs.  Years 
ago  Bear  was  clothed  in  a  coat  of  dark  spruces.  The 
lumbermen  have  sadly  mutilated  its  western  slopes, 
leaving  huge,  ghastly  slashes  from  their  merciless 
shears.  Time  is  gradually  restoring  the  original  beauty, 
however. 

Although  of  insignificant  altitude,  Bear  is  imposing. 
It  is  rarely  visited,  however.2  This  is  because,  first, 
there  is  no  path  to  the  top.  After  leaving  a  logging 
road,  which  terminates  well  up  on  its  side,  one  must 
strike  through  a  tangle  to  reach  the  top  of  the  ridge. 
An  almost  impenetrable  growth  has  shot  up  among  the 
tumbledown  and  the  very  summit  is  so  barricaded  with 
prostrate  logs,  underbrush  and  stones  that  the  intrusion 
of  a  climber  seems  to  be  resented.3  The  second  and 
weightier  reason  is  that,  as  the  top  is  heavily  wooded, 
one  must  seek  fragmentary  views  from  distant  lookouts. 
But  even  from  these  lookouts  only  an  ordinary  view 
may  be  had.  Of  Chocorua,  Moat,  the  surrounding 
peaks  and  our  valley  the  view  is  good,  but  of  Washing- 
ton and  its  neighbors,  only  moderate.4 

Between  Bear  and  Bartlett  Haystack — northwest  of 
the  former — lies  the  Bear  Mountain  Notch,  through 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  128. 

*Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  243-251. 

*  Compare  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  243-251. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  159 

which  many  trampers  pass.  This  affords  the  shortest 
cut  from  the  Albany  Intervale  to  the  Presidential  re- 
gion. Years  ago  the  Bartlett  Land  and  Lumber  Com- 
pany built  a  railroad  through  the  notch,  but  this  long 
ago  rotted  away.  A  bright  spot  on  the  "Notch  Trail," 
in  the  very  heart  of  lonely  solitude,  was  a  cozy  little 
cabin  formerly  owned  by  Charlie  Brewster,  who  lived 
here  alone  on  the  side  of  Bear  for  a  number  of  years.5 

High  above  and  in  plain  sight  from  the  road,  and 
perhaps  accessible  from  it,  a  flat-topped  ridge  extends 
from  Bear  to  Moat;  this  is  known  as  Table  Moun- 
tain.6 This  mountain  is  not  visible  from  our  "Great 
Intervale,"  however.  Table  is  only  2,663  feet  in  alti- 
tude, while  Bear  is  3,230  feet.7 

Bartlett  Haystack,  also  known  as  Silver  Spring  or 
Mount  Revelation,8  lies  to  the  northwest  of  Bear. 
From  our  valley  the  mountain  resembles  a  saddle  more 
than  a  haystack,  there  being  a  deep  depression  between 
two  wooded  cones.  For  a  low  mountain  Bartlett  Hay- 
stack is  imposing,  because  of  its  sharpness.  It  is  only 
2,995  feet  in  altitude.9  Remarkable  views  of  the  Al- 
bany and  Bartlett  valleys,  and  good  views  of  the  sur- 
rounding country  and  the  Presidential  mountains  may 
be  enjoyed.  From  either  Cobb's  Ford,  in  Bartlett,  or 
by  the  "Notch  Trail,"  the  ascent  usually  is  made.  The 
latter,  although  shorter,  is  much  more  difficult,  there 

8  See  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  174. 

'Osgood:  White  Mountains,  128. 

1  U.  S.  Geo.  Survey,  Crawford  Notch  Sheet. 

8  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  178. 

'U.  S.  Geo.  Sur.,  Craw.  Notch  Sheet. 


160  Passaconaway 

being  no  definite  trail,  and  no  party  should  attempt  to 
climb  by  this  route  without  either  an  experienced 
woodsman  or  one  well  acquainted  with  the  local  ter- 
rain. The  view  fully  repays  one  for  his  toil.10 

The  third  mountain  in  our  northern  sky-line,  as  our 
eyes  travel  from  east  to  west,  is  Tremont,  whose  peak 
several  years  ago  was  swept  by  fire,11  but  which  nature 
is  slowly  re-clothing.  Because  of  a  ridge  uniting  Tre- 
mont with  its  more  northeasterly  neighbor,  of  which  we 
have  spoken  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  these  two 
mountains  are  known  jointly  as  the  Bartlett  Hay- 
stacks.12 Tremont's  bare  granite  summit  is  somewhat 
rounded  at  the  top,  and  from  Chocorua's  heights  re- 
sembles a  sharp  cone,  gorgeously  glittering  when  snow- 
covered  in  winter.  From  "Shackford's"  it  appears  as 
a  huge,  white-capped  wave.  This  mountain  is  a  cluster 
of  lowly  peaks  which  at  length  condense  into  one 
knobby  ridge.13  A  slide  on  its  southwestern  slope  ex- 
tends from  near  the  summit  to  the  edge  of  Sawyer's 
Pond,  and  may  be  seen  from  many  of  the  neighboring 
lookouts.  One  can  get  a  glimpse  of  this  slide  even 
from  Sabbaday  Falls. 

Many  claim  that  the  semicircular  hill-top  south  of 
Tremont  is  only  a  spur  of  Tremont,  while  others  assert 
that  it  should  be  classed  as  a  separate  mountain.  This 
is  Owl  Cliff.  Its  massive  face  strikingly  reminds  one 
of  an  owl:  There  are  the  huge,  hollowed-out  eyes,  sep- 

10  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,   178. 
"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  130. 
u  Same. 
"The  same. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  161 

arated  by  a  prominent  curved  beak,  and  the  trees  at  its 
base  form  the  feathery  neck  and  shoulders.  Especially 
at  approaching  dusk  or  on  bright  moonlight  evenings 
is  this  resemblance  the  more  remarkable.  Then  the 
beak  shines,  and  the  huge  dark  eyes  seem  alive  and 
dancing  with  their  savage  fire.  The  most  frequent 
visitors  to  these  peaks  are  deer  and  bear.  For  several 
summers  a  pair  of  eagles  apparently  had  their  home  on 
or  near  the  ledges  of  Owl  Cliff.  At  the  foot  of  the 
precipices,  the  deer  make  their  yard  during  the  winter, 
and  you  may  see  many  trees  with  the  bark  stripped  off 
by  deer  to  the  height  of  six  or  seven  feet. 

From  our  valley  the  ascent  of  either  Tremont  or 
Owl  Cliff  should  not  be  attempted  without  some 
knowledge  of  the  lay  of  the  land,  for  one  easily  loses 
his  way.14  An  A.  M.  C.  register  may  be  found  on  Tre- 
mont. From  the  summit  are  enjoyed  fine  views  of  the 
Presidential  and  surrounding  ranges,  the  Swift  and 
Saco  valleys,  and  the  Carrigain  Notch.15  The  hope 
has  been  expressed  that,  by  running  a  path  from  Upper 
Bartlett,  Tremont  may  be  opened  up  to  a  larger  num- 
ber of  trampers.16  From  the  Albany  side  the  route 
would  be  too  long  and  arduous.  Tremont  is  3,365  feet 
in  altitude,  lifting  its  peak  415  feet  above  Owl  Cliff, 
which  is  2,950  feet  high.17 

To  the  north  of  our  cottage,  in  the  blue  distance,  lies 
a  truly  Alpine  scene.  Between  Tremont  and  the  Car- 

"  Compare  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  176. 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  130;  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  176. 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  130. 

"U.  S.  Geo.  Surv.,  Craw.  Notch  Sheet. 


1 62  Passaconaway 

rigain  Notch  are  three  sharp  peaks.  This  range  is 
known  as  the  Nancy  Range,  and  comprises  Lowell,  An- 
derson, Nancy  and  Bemis.  Mount  Bemis,  however,  is 
not  visible  from  our  valley.  These  mountains  are 
heavily  wooded  and  are  separated  at  their  bases  by 
tiny  lakes.18 

Taking  the  Nancy  Range  from  west  to  east,  let  us 
begin  with  Lowell,  the  sharpest  of  the  group.  Lowell 
is  a  real  mountain  and,  among  the  many  peaks  visible 
from  our  cottage,  it  is  one  of  the  few  which  remind  us 
of  the  sharp  mountains  of  Switzerland.  Lowell's  west- 
ern side  drops  off  with  terrible  steepness,  forming  the 
eastern  wall  of  the  Carrigain  Notch.  Its  sheer  cliffs 
have  been  left  bare  by  huge  slides.  Lowell  was  for- 
merly Brickhouse  Mr.,  but  in  1868  its  name  was 
changed  to  Lowell,  in  honor  of  a  Portland  gentleman 
who  was  an  enthusiastic  mountain  explorer.19 

Mount  Anderson,  five  feet  lower  than  Lowell,  is 
east  of  the  latter,  but  because  of  its  massive  shoulders 
and  less  angular  outlines,  it  presents  a  far  less  imposing 
appearance  and  seems  like  a  much  lower  mountain. 
Mr.  Anderson,  for  whom  this  peak  was  named,  was 
the  chief  engineer  of  the  Portland  and  Ogdensburg 
Railroad.20 

For  the  benefit  of  those  who  wish  to  climb  these 
mountains,  the  following  directions  will  be  found  help- 
ful:— "Mts.  Lowell  and  Anderson  can  best  be  ascended 
by  leaving  the  Carrigain  Notch  trail  just  north  of  the 

"A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,   163. 
"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  133. 
"The  same. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  163 

Notch  and  following  up  a  depression  between  them  in 
an  easterly  direction  until  the  Livermore-Lincoln  town 
boundary,  a  blazed  line,  is  struck.  Turning  south  on 
this  line,  the  summit  of  Mt.  Lowell  may  be  reached  in 
about  a  mile  of  very  steep  climbing,  while  north  about 
the  same  distance  and  same  steepness  is  Mt.  Anderson. 
An  outcropping  ledge  on  the  west  side  of  Anderson, 
near  the  line,  gives  a  wonderfully  fine  view  of  Carri- 
gain,  Carrigain  Notch,  and  the  Pemigewasset  Wilder- 
ness. An  A.  M.  C.  register  is  at  this  point.  Passing 
over  the  summit,  the  boundary  may  be  followed  down 
into  the  valley  between  Anderson  and  Nancy,  the  line 
passing  between  Norcross  Pond  and  Nancy  Pond, 
though  not  within  sight  of  either.  The  line  may  be 
followed  up  the  south  slope  of  Nancy  to  the  summit 
which  is  wooded  and  affords  little  view.  The  highest 
point  is  east  of  the  town  line  and  bears  an  A.  M.  C. 
cylinder.  The  trees  around  the  register  are  spotted  to 
aid  in  its  location.  The  boundary  may  be  followed 
down  into  the  depression  between  Nancy  and  Bemis, 
where  a  good  camping  site  is  found  at  a  small  lake 
under  the  summit  of  the  latter.  The  line  may  then  be 
followed  up  an  easy  slope  through  open  timber  to  the 
summit  of  Bemis,  which  has  a  number  of  open  vistas 
affording  fine  though  limited  views.  An  A.  M.  C. 
register  is  on  the  highest  point,  the  trees  around  it  be- 
ing blazed.  The  descent  may  be  made  down  the  steep 
south  shoulder  to  Nancy  Brook  through  fine  spruce 
growth,  thence  good  logging  roads  may  be  taken  out 
to  the  M.  C.  R.  R.,  a  short  distance  below  Bemis  Sta- 
tion. The  above  trip  should  only  be  taken  by  those  ex- 


1 64  Passaconaway 

pcrienccd  in  wood  craft,  as  no  paths  exist  and  the  way 
is  very  rough.  On  account  of  the  length  of  the  trip, 
camping  equipment  is  necessary."  21 

The  third  of  the  trio,  higher  and  more  romantic  than 
either  Lowell  or  Anderson,  is  the  gently  sloping  Nancy. 
Its  name  was  formerly  Mt.  Amorisgelu,  but  eventually 
this  was  changed  to  Nancy  to  commemorate  the  victim 
of  a  tragedy  which  occurred  at  its  base.22  Mr.  Sweet- 
ser,  in  "Osgood's  White  Mountains,"  tells  the  story  as 
follows: — "The  bridge,  brook,  and  mountain  derive 
their  names  from  a  sad  incident  in  the  early  history  of 
the  country.  In  the  autumn  of  1788,  a  young  woman 
by  the  name  of  Nancy  was  employed  in  Colonel  Whip- 
pie's  family  at  Jefferson,  and  became  engaged  to  one 
of  the  men  on  the  farm.  She  gave  him  her  two-years' 
wages  when  they  were  about  to  depart  for  Portsmouth 
to  be  married,  but  he  started  away  during  her  absence, 
leaving  no  explanation.  On  her  return  at  night  she  set 
out  after  him,  hoping  to  catch  the  recreant  lover  in 
camp  at  the  Notch,  before  the  dawn.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  snow,  and  the  route  for  thirty  miles  lay 
through  the  forest,  marked  only  by  a  line  of  spotted 
trees.  She  reached  the  camp,  but  it  was  abandoned, 
and  after  vainly  striving  to  rekindle  the  smouldering 
fire,  she  pressed  on  down  the  Notch,  fording  the  icy 
Saco  in  several  places,  and  at  last  sank  down  in  utter 
exhaustion  on  the  south  bank  of  Nancy  Brook,  where 
she  was  speedily  chilled  to  death.  The  bitter  north- 
west wind  had  driven  blinding  masses  of  snow  upon 

"A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,   161-163. 
"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  133. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  165 

her;  her  clothing  had  become  saturated  in  fording  the 
streams;  and  she  was  found  stiff  and  cold,  with  her 
head  resting  on  her  staff.  The  men  at  Colonel  Whip- 
pie's  had  doubted  that  she  would  face  the  storm,  but, 
becoming  alarmed  at  her  long  absence,  they  followed 
the  trail  and  found  her,  not  long  after  her  death.  On 
learning  of  her  dauntless  faith  and  terrible  fate,  her 
lover  became  insane,  and  died,  a  few  years  later,  in 
fearful  paroxysms;  and  there  is  a  tradition  that  long 
afterwards  these  valleys  resounded  on  still  nights  with 
the  weird  and  agonizing  shrieks  of  his  restless  ghost."  23 

These  three  mountains — Lowell,  Anderson,  and 
Nancy — are  covered  with  tall  growth.  Although  com- 
paratively free  from  underbrush,  no  paths  lead  to  their 
summits.  Their  peaks  are  densely  wooded.  Lowell  is 
3,730  feet,  Anderson  3,725,  and  Nancy  3,810  feet  in 
altitude.24 

That  the  Carrigain  Notch  is  the  most  imposing  notch 
in  the  White  Mountains  was  the  opinion  of  Prof.  Vose.23 
This  is  a  great  hollow  between  Lowell,  Carrigain,  and 
Tremont.  It  is  so  thickly  wooded  that  its  beauty  may 
best  be  appreciated  from  the  overhanging  ledges  of  its 
mountain  guardians.  If  a  road  were  to  be  built  from 
the  Saco  country  to  the  Pemigewasset,  the  natural  and 
easiest  route  would  lie  through  the  Carrigain  Notch. 
From  Sawyer's  Rock  to  the  center  of  the  pass  the  dis- 
tance is  not  more  than  three  miles.  The  Appalachians 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  138. 

**  U.  S.  Geo.  Surv.,  Craw.  Notch  Sheet.     Compare  also  A.  M.  C. 
Guide,  Part  I,  161. 
"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  137. 


1 66  Passaconavuay 

opened  a  blazed  trail  through  the  Carrigain  Notch  in 
I906.26 

Mt.  Carrigain  lies  in  the  Pemigewassct  forest  be- 
tween Sawyer's  River  and  the  East  Branch.  It  is  the 
loftiest  and  most  imposing  of  a  group  of  mountains. 
Its  bold  and  impressive  outlines  make  it  an  object 
of  great  interest,  hence  Bolles  calls  it  "Carrigain, 
the  mighty."  27  But  its  remoteness  from  the  roads  has 
rendered  it  all  but  inaccessible  to  ordinary  tourists.28 

Prof.  Vose,  after  whom  Vose's  Spur  is  named, — 
which  spur  is  the  only  part  of  Carrigain  seen  from 
"Shackford's,"  although  from  Jack  Allen's,  Mrs.  Col- 
bath's  and  the  Mayhew  Farm  grand  views  of  the  main 
mountain  may  be  had — says  of  Carrigain: — "It  stands 
almost  exactly  in  the  centre  of  the  vast  group  of  the 
White  and  Franconia  Mts.,  and,  rising  as  it  does  to  a 
height  of  nearly  5,000  feet,  is  a  marked  feature  in  the 
landscape  from  almost  every  point  of  view.  Con- 
versely, the  view  from  Carrigain  must  embrace  the 
whole  mountain  mass,  and  must  sweep  around  over  all 
the  principal  summits.  .  .  .  Ranges  and  notches,  huge 
mountains  and  broad  valleys,  never  seen  from  the 
points  commonly  visited  in  this  region,  are  spread  all 
around.  From  its  central  position  a  better  idea  of  the 
arrangement  of  the  White  and  Franconia  Mts.  is  had 
than  from  any  other  point,  perhaps,  in  the  whole 
group."  29 

"A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  157-161. 
87 Bolles:  Chocorua's  Tenants,  42. 
aSee  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  134. 
"The  same. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  167 

A  narrow  ridge,  several  rods  long,  forms  the  sum- 
mit, which  is  4,647  feet  in  altitude.  Vose's  Spur,  792 
feet  lower,  is  more  open  and  affords  a  fine  outlook. 
There  is  another  spur  south  of  the  summit  known  as 
Signal  Ridge,  for  here  a  signal-pole  was  set  in  a  pile 
of  stones;  from  this  lookout — 4,400  feet  high — one 
has  the  best  and  most  complete  view  in  all  directions 
except  westward.  The  ravines  between  these  spurs 
and  the  summit  are  very  inconsiderable,  and  it  well  re- 
pays the  tourist  to  spend  some  time  on  these  lookouts, 
east  and  south.30  Surveyor  Crawford  was  so  struck 
with  the  view  that  he  expressed  the  wish  "that  the  next 
year  a  party  might  be  sent  up  to  clear  the  summit  of  the 
trees  and  thereby  open  up  the  grandest  view  in  the 
state."  31  A  tripod  now  affords  a  good  outlook.  The 
first  path  up  Carrigain  was  made  by  the  Appala- 
chians in  1879.  In  1898  this  was  re-located.  One  may 
find  in  the  "A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  the  Paths  in  the  White 
Mts.,  1916,"  detailed  descriptions  of  and  directions 
concerning  the  path  to  Carrigain's  summit.32 

Philip  Carrigain  was  born  at  Concord  in  1772,  and 
died  there  in  1842.  He  was  a  graduate  of  Dartmouth. 
He  practised  law  at  Concord,  Epsom,  Chichester  and 
again  at  Concord.  He  was  later  State  Surveyor,  and 
from  1805  to  1810  was  Secretary  of  State  of  New 
Hampshire.  He  was  also  clerk  of  the  senate.  He 
made  a  map  of  the  White  Mountains  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1816,  and  for  this  service  the  "Hub  of  the 

"Compare  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,   155. 
"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  134. 
"A.  M.  C.  Guide,   1916,  240. 


1 68  Passaconaway 

White  Mountains"  now  fittingly  bears  his  name.33  He 
was  the  first  to  call  New  Hampshire  the  "Granite 
State."  34 

Julius  H.  Ward  devotes  an  interesting  chapter,  en- 
titled "The  Heart  of  the  Wilderness,"  to  Mt.  Carri- 
gain.  In  this  chapter  he  enthusiastically  says : — "It  is 
the  distinguishing  characteristic  of  Mount  Carrigain 
that  it  is  in  the  centre  of  the  White  Mountain  system 
and  holds  the  key  to  the  entire  country.  It  is  a  bold  and 
massive  peak,  wooded  nearly  to  the  summit,  not  deso- 
late like  Chocorua,  not  rifted  with  the  fury  of  the  gods 
like  Mount  Washington,  but  unique  in  its  beauty  as 
seen  from  a  distance,  and  presenting  a  wonderful  pan- 
orama of  the  wilderness  when  you  have  climbed  its  sum- 
mit and  from  its  cairn  look  out  at  all  points  of  the  com- 
pass upon  an  uninhabited  world.  I  have  stood  on  the 
brow  of  the  cliff  that  hangs  over  Kineo  Bay  at  Moose- 
head  Lake  and  strained  the  eye  in  every  direction  over 
the  untrodden  forest;  I  have  surveyed  the  Adirondacks 
from  the  nose  of  Mount  Mansfield  and  swept  the  field 
of  vision  through  the  lower  Canadas;  I  have  felt,  as 
others  have  felt  who  have  climbed  these  peaks,  that 
there  was  something  about  the  view  from  them  and 
something  in  the  silence  that  reigns  upon  them  which 
appeals  strongly  to  the  conception  of  universal  Nature; 
but  I  think  that  the  sense  of  utter  separation  from  hu- 
manity, the  sense  of  entire  lostness  in  the  wilderness, 
the  sense  of  the  complete  abandonment  of  the  soul  to 
Nature  was  never  realized  as  it  was  during  my  stay  of 

**A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I.  155;  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  135. 
*4  Appleton's  Cyclopaedia  of  American  Biography,  I,  535. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  169 

a  few  hours  on  the  topmost  peak  of  Mount  Carri- 
gain."  85  Champney's  celebrated  painting  of  Mount 
Carrigain  was  made  from  near  the  old  mill  in  Upper 
Bartlett.36 

From  our  valley,  little  Green's  Cliff,  2,903  feet 
high,  shuts  out  the  greater  part  of  Carrigain  from  our 
view.  No  truer  natural  fortress  could  be  asked  for 
than  this  flat,  perpendicular  rampart  offers.  It  is  seen 
to  best  advantage  from  the  knoll  at  Church's  Pond. 
The  two-mile  stretch  between  it  and  the  pond  is  as  wild 
a  region  as  can  be  found  in  the  state.  Logging  roads 
take  one  to  the  base,  but  there  is  no  path  to  the  sum- 
mit, and  it  is  almost  never  ascended  by  tourists. 

At  the  far  northwestern  extremity  of  our  northern 
sky-line  the  dark  humps  of  Hancock  appear,  in  the 
Carrigain,  Huntington  and  Hitchcock  range.37  It  rises 
4,430  feet  above  sea  level.38  This  peak  on  Prof. 
Guyot's  map — a  very  early  one — is  called  "Pemige- 
wasset  Peak." 39  Because  of  its  remarkably  well- 
rounded  humps,  it  has  been  known  as  Camel's  Hump. 
Very  steep  and  heavily  wooded,  in  places  exceedingly 
rocky,  is  Hancock.  Formerly  climbers  ascended  it  from 
the  East  Branch  of  the  Pemigewasset.  Hancock  has 
been  heavily  lumbered  the  last  few  years.  There  is  an 
A.  M.  C.  register  on  a  ledge  near  the  highest  point.40 

Lying  to   the  left  of   this  monster  is   Mt.   Hunt- 

BWard:  The  White  Mountains,  134-5. 

38Osgood's  White  Mountains,  127. 

STA.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  163. 

WU.  S.  Geo.  Surv.,  Craw.  Notch  Sheet. 

*"Oigood:  White  Mt«,  157. 

40  A.  M.  C.  Guide,  Part  I,  163. 


170  Passaconaway 

ington,  with  Mt.  Hitchcock  just  peeping  over  its  south- 
ern shoulder.  The  former,  although  only  3,730  feet 
in  altitude,41  bulks  large  to  the  eye.  Huntington  is  en- 
tirely clothed  in  dark  green  trees  except  for  a  patch  of 
light-colored  second  growth  at  its  southeastern  base. 
When  the  lumbermen  cut  off  the  dark  growth  here,  they 
cut  in  such  a  way  as  to  leave  in  the  center  a  distinct  cross 
of  dark  growth.  This  dark  cross,  upon  its  lighter 
background,  is  a  very  interesting  sight,  especially  when 
seen  from  the  top  of  Potash;  only  in  certain  lights 
can  it  be  seen  from  the  level  of  our  valley. 

From  our  porch  Hitchcock  is  indistinguishable  from 
Huntington  except  when  a  cloud  rests  in  the  valley 
between  the  two  mountains,  or  on  misty  or  hazy  days, 
when  their  separateness  is  manifest  even  to  the 
stranger. 

Charles  H.  Hitchcock  was  the  State  Geologist  of 
New  Hampshire  and  became  Professor  of  Geology  at 
Dartmouth.  Joshua  H.  Huntington  was  his  Principal 
Assistant  in  the  former  office.  Their  contributions  to 
the  state  were  maps,  researches  on  mountain  peaks, 
and  their  "Geology  of  New  Hampshire."  Huntington 
spent  a  winter  on  Mount  Moosilauke  and  another  on 
Mount  Washington.  The  volume  entitled  "Mount 
Washington  in  Winter"  contains  several  interesting 
chapters  from  his  pen.  This  little  book  gives  one  the 
shivers  by  its  description  of  the  Arctic  conditions  en- 
countered up  in  this  land  of  the  sky. 

At  the  western  end  of  our  intervale,  and  lying  en- 
tirely within  it,  there  is  a  little  hill  which  so  resembles 

"  U.  S.  Geo.  Surv.,  Craw.  Notch  Sheet. 


The  Northern  Sky-Line  171 

a  sugar  loaf,  that  it  is  named  Sugar  Hill.  Were  its 
summit  bare  granite,  it  would  be  Potash's  duplicate  on 
a  smaller  scale.  Its  sides  slope  off  regularly  and  gently 
in  all  directions.  In  altitude  it  is  1,845  ^eet-  On 
Sugar  Hill  huge  boulders  are  strewn  in  every  direc- 
tion. Frank  Bolles  claims  that  this  must  have  been 
either  an  island  in  the  great  lake  which  once  existed 
in  the  Passaconaway  Intervale,  or  the  western  shore 
of  its  waters.  This  hill  is  neither  thickly  covered 
with  rich  loam,  as  is  the  valley,  nor  does  it  show 
any  signs  of  having  been  submerged.42 

One  of  our  favorite  tramps  is  up  the  Swift  River 
Trail.  This  may  serve  as  an  arbitrary  dividing-line 
between  our  northern  and  western  sky-lines.  I  can  do 
no  better  than  to  give  in  substance  a  description  of  this 
old  Indian  path  which  was  written  by  Prof.  James 
Sturgis  Pray: — The  Swift  River  Trail  follows,  from 
the  westerly  end  of  the  Albany  Intervale,  the  Sabbaday 
Falls  Path  for  perhaps  a  mile,  or  a  mile  and  a  half, 
from  the  Passaconaway  House.  Thence  it  runs  along- 
side the  south  bank  of  the  Swift,  "sometimes  skirting 
the  very  edge  of  its  high  bank,  commanding  beautiful 
vistas  up  and  down  stream,  at  other  times  out  of  sight 
(rarely  out  of  sound)  of  its  running  water,"  for  a  mile 
and  a  half  to  Pine  Bend.  On  this  part  of  the  trail  we 
pass  some  noble  stretches  of  smooth  ledge.  We  press 
on  until  a  logging  road  is  gained  which  leads  to  Camp 
No.  6,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half.  The  divide  between 
Kancamagus  and  Huntington  is  climbed  and  presently 
one  reaches  the  headwaters  of  the  East  Branch  of  the 

"Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  281. 


172  Passaconaway 

Pemigcwasset.  Henry's  old  lumber  railroad  lies  per- 
haps three  miles  west  of  the  divide  and  leads  to  either 
North  Woodstock  or  Lincoln.  About  the  same  dis- 
tance from  the  divide  one  finds  a  trail  leading  south 
through  the  Mad  River  Notch,  between  Osceola 
and  Kancamagus,  to  Waterville.  "Everywhere  it  is 
through  beautiful  forest,  from  once  entering  just  above 
Shackford's,  till  finally  coming  out  upon  the  old  log- 
ging road,  and  even  this  region  is  beautiful  again,  it 
having  been  logged  so  long  ago."  43 

Among  other  interesting  features  of  this  trail  there 
used  to  be  a  secluded  cabin  belonging  to  a  prominent 
Conway  physician.  This  was  known  as  "Home's 
Camp,"  and  nearly  every  one  traveling  the  Swift  River 
Trail  enjoyed  its  hospitable  shelter.  The  owner  made 
it  a  point  to  keep  it  well  supplied  with  non-perishable 
food  and  warm  bedding.  A  few  years  ago  this  famous 
camp  was  destroyed  by  fire.  In  the  days  of  its  exist- 
ence, if  one  wished  for  absolute  solitude,  unbroken 
only  by  visits  from  wood  mice,  bear,  and  other  forest 
folk,  this  cabin  offered  such  a  haven  as  exists  nowhere 
else.  In  my  chapter  on  adventures,  etc.,  I  shall  narrate 
some  experiences  which  took  place  here. 

The  Swift  River  and  Swift  River  Trail  lie  at  the  base 
of  Mount  Kancamagus.  In  the  chapter  devoted  to  the 
chieftain  of  that  name  will  be  found  a  brief  description 
of  this  mountain. 

aj.   S.  Pray,    Feb.    19,    1903,   Appalachia,   vol.   X,    173;    A.   M.   C. 
Guide,  Part  I,   178-9. 


CHAPTER    IX 

SUNSET  RAMPART  AND  THE  SOUTHWESTERN  QUADRANT 

TRIPYRAMID,  as  its  name  indicates,  is  a  triple- 
peaked  mountain,  all  three  of  whose  peaks  seem 
to  rise  from  a  nearly  horizontal  ridge.  Tripyramid 
towers  high  above  all  the  surrounding  peaks  except  one 
— Passaconaway.  Its  three  peaks  taper  up  from  the 
ridge  into  sharply  pointed  cones  or  pyramids.  From 
our  valley  they  remind  one  of  the  steam-domes  and 
sand-boxes  on  the  boiler  of  a  huge  modern  locomotive. 
Just  below  the  crest  of  this  ridge,  a  monster  bear, 
chased  for  three  days  by  Jack  Allen  and  his  son,  met  his 
fate. 

Because  of  its  sharp  peaks  this  mountain  was  for- 
merly known  by  the  people  near  its  western  slopes  as 
Waterville  Haystack.1  Then,  too,  from  its  awful  gran- 
deur, it  long  bore  the  name  of  Passaconaway.2  Later 
this  royal  name  was  transferred  to  another  gigantic 
pile  of  rock  of  nearly  the  same  height,  Tripyramid's 
altitude  being  4,121  feet,  while  Passaconaway  is  4,116 
feet.3  Tripyramid  is  wooded  to  the  summit  and  the 
ground  is  strewn  with  "tangled  and  bristling  ever- 
greens," so  that  if  any  view  is  to  be  obtained  one  must 

1Chas.  Fay  in  Appalachia,  vol.  I,  23. 
2  Compare  Chas.  Fay  in  Appalachia,  vol.  VI. 
'Among  the  Clouds  gives  both  as  4,200. 
173 


1 74  Passaconaway 

go  to  the  ledges  on  the  southern  side.  Here  a  wonder- 
ful view  of  the  lake-country  may  be  enjoyed.4 

The  west  side  has  two  mammoth  land-slides.  In 
Watcrville  the  word  "Tripyramid"  is  almost  synony- 
mous with  that  of  "land-slide."  "The  Great  Slide  on 
Tripyramid  is  considered  by  many  visitors  the  most 
remarkable  object  among  the  curiosities  of  Waterville. 
It  commences  about  two  miles  from  Greeley's,  at  the 
ancient  clearing  known  as  Beckytown,  and  is  reached 
by  taking  the  path  to  the  Cascades  and  diverging  to 
the  left  at  the  forks  (about  one  and  a  quarter  miles 
from  the  house).  Beckytown  is  280  feet  above  Gree- 
ley's, and  from  this  point  the  Slide  may  be  ascended 
for  two  miles,  gaining  a  farther  altitude  of  1,015  feet. 
This  section  of  the  devastated  valley  is  followed  by 
a  small  stream,  and  the  fringes  are  encumbered  with 
the  high-piled  remnants  of  the  ruined  forests.  It  is 
here  over  1,000  feet  wide,  where  the  debris  spread 
over  the  meadows,  and  it  decreases  in  the  ascent  to 
125-300  feet  wide.  The  upper  half-mile  narrows 
gradually  from  640  to  30  feet,  and  has  an  angle  of 
about  34°. 

"At  two  miles  above  the  foot,  the  Slide  turns  at 
right  angles  with  the  brook,  coming  down  directly 
off  the  sharp  slope  of  Tripyramid,  very  broad,  heaped 
with  bare  white  rocks  and  their  disintegrated  frag- 
ments, and  breaking  down  to  the  bed-rock  in  frequent 
places.  This  section  is  about  a  half  mile  long,  and 
rises  1,100  feet,  giving  for  the  whole  Slide  a  length 
of  two  and  a  half  miles,  and  an  altitude  from  base 

'Osgood:  White  Mts.,  328. 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant     175 

to  top,  of  2,115  feet.  The  brook  section  is  compara- 
tively easy  of  ascent,  but  the  upper  half-mile  is  so 
extremely  steep  as  to  enforce  slow  advance  on  the  part 
of  the  climber,  whose  footing,  moreover,  is  often  very 
insecure.  Beautiful  views  of  Lake  Winnepesaukee  and 
the  mountains  to  the  south  and  west  are  afforded  in 
retrospect.  The  great  natural  convulsion  which 
caused  this  catastrophe  took  place  during  the  remark- 
able rains  of  the  year  1869,  but  was  unattended  with 
any  loss  of  life  or  property.  The  Slide  contains  many 
points  of  interest  to  geologists  and  other  scientific  men. 
The  rocks  on  the  lower  half  are  labradorite  and  os- 
sipyte,  and  the  white  boulders  above  are  granitic."  5 

The  second  slide  is  on  an  even  larger  scale.  This 
slide  is  not  far  from  the  first.  It  seems  to  have  laid 
open  almost  the  entire  southwestern  side  of  the  moun- 
tain. The  downpour  of  August  13,  1885,  was  the 
cause  of  this  slide.  A  Waterville  man  has  given  us 
the  following  interesting  account:  "On  Saturday,  the 
fifteenth,  a  small  party,  including  Mr.  Butler,  started 
to  find  the  new  slide  and  examine  it.  At  'Beckytown' 
we  found  that  most  of  the  old  clearing  had  disappeared. 
The  brook-bed  was  a  waste  of  sand  and  rock  nearly 
two  hundred  feet  wide.  A  few  rods  higher  up,  the 
width  of  the  havoc  and  the  amount  of  the  debris  was 
doubled.  Boulders  and  great  stones,  scattered  or  piled 
in  confused  masses;  high  banks  of  mud,  now  being 
cut  and  channeled  by  many  streams;  piles  of  logs  and 
stumps;  trees  stripped  of  limbs  and  bark,  cruelly 
bruised  and  hammered,  broken  asunder  like  matches 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  328. 


176  Passaconaway 

or  twisted  like  withes ;  young  trees  bent  over  and  their 
tops  buried  in  mud  and  sand;  cords  of  driftwood  in 
the  corners,  often  ground  to  fragments,  finger  size — 
this  was  the  destruction  before  us.  And  this,  with 
narrower  limits  and  slight  variations,  was  the  scene 
of  the  next  two  miles.  .  .  .  Boulders  piled  higher 
than  one's  head  extended  in  long  lines  parallel  with  the 
current,  while  the  hard-pan  of  the  bed  rock  was 
plowed  down  five,  ten,  and  even  twenty  feet  to  the 
underlying  granite.  .  .  .  Spruces  five  feet  in  diameter 
were  broken  like  pipe  stems.  Birches  almost  as  large 
were  twisted  off,  leaving  their  ends  like  basket-stuff. 
Great  gnarly  stumps  partially  torn  asunder  were  fre- 
quently seen,  but  never  a  limb  nor  a  branch;  they  had 
been  broken  and  carried  away,  or  ground  into  undis- 
tinguishable  fragments.  We  saw  cracks  and  crevices 
in  the  ledges  wedged  tightly  with  log-fragments ;  stones 
up  to  four  inches  in  diameter  driven  their  whole  size 
into  the  sides  of  green  tree  trunks;  boulders  bruised 
and  scarred  as  though  hammered  by  sledges  of  iron. 
...  As  one  nears  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  these 
masses  of  slide  salad  become  hills  of  twenty,  thirty, 
and  forty  feet  in  height.  .  .  .  This  new  slide  is  at 
the  east  of  and  joins  at  the  base  of  the  i86^_slide.  .  .  . 
The  two  have  made  the  fair  mountain  a  cfesert  of  rock. 
A  narrow  strip  of  forest  separates  the  two  slides  from 
near  the  top  to  two-fifths  of  the  way  down.  The  slide 
of  1869  is  thirty  feet  wide  at  its  apex;  that  of  1885 
is  over  an  hundred  feet.  The  widest  part  of  the  old 
equals  that  of  the  new,  but  the  new  maintains  a  twenty- 
five  per  cent  greater  average  width.  .  .  .  The  slide  of 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant     177 

1869  has  one  apex,  that  of  1885  has  three."  6  While 
this  new  slide  was  roaring  down,  the  old  one,  not  to  be 
outdone,  started  afresh,  ten  rods  above  its  ancient 
apex,  and,  rumbling  over  the  scarred  bed,  contributed 
its  mite  to  the  debris  in  the  valley.7 

Tripyramid  may  be  ascended  by  a  trail  from  our 
valley,  although  it  is  a  long,  hard  day's  work.  The 
ascent  usually  is  made,  however,  from  Waterville,  by 
trails  up  the  slides,  a  climb  of  6l/>  miles.8  It  has  even 
been  ascended  by  snow-shoe  parties  from  its  western 
side.9 

Between  our  valley  and  Tripyramid  the  bald  head 
of  Potash  shines.  Although  in  figures  on  the  map  this 
little  hill  looks  negligible,  yet  its  steepness,  shape,  and 
bare  ledges  give  it  an  imposing  distinctiveness.  Potash 
is  conspicuous  when  seen  from  a  distance  because  of 
its  coarse  white  granite  peak;  this  granite,  the  same 
as  is  found  on  the  expansive  ledges  of  Tremont  and 
Green's  Cliff,  is  known  as  "Conway  Granite."  10  A 
very  fine  view  of  this  stone  may  be  had  on  the  north- 
western slope  of  Potash  at  Sabbaday  Falls. 

Potash  is  said  by  Osgood  to  be  only  a  mile  and  a 
half  from  the  Passaconaway  House  site,11  but,  from 
repeated  experiences,  I  can  testify  that  these  are  "moun- 
tain miles."  Were  I  to  guess  the  distance,  I  should 
call  the  climb  a  good  stiff  2l/2  miles.  Potash,  so 

"A.  A.  Butler  in  Appalachia,  vol.  IV. 

T  Same. 

"A.  M.  C.  Guide  to  Paths  in  the  White  Mountains,  1916,  304. 

'See  Chubbuck  in  Appalachia,  vol.  VII,  14. 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  n,  343. 

"The  same,  343. 


178  Passaconaway 

named  because  of  its  resemblance  to  an  inverted  potash 
kettle,  may  be  ascended  by  a  path  (now  uncertain). 
From  the  first  lookout,  a  lower  spur  of  the  mountain, 
a  well  defined  path  runs  to  the  great  ledges.  This  tiny 
path  passes  through  gloomy  stretches  of  woods,  some- 
times running  over  moss-covered  ledges,  then  plung- 
ing again  into  the  silent  depths.  I  think  this  little  path 
is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  patches  of  scenery  in  the 
Albany  Intervale. 

The  first  lookout  is  a  promontory  some  distance  east 
of  the  dome  itself.  Like  the  summit,  it  presents  a  dis- 
tinct, though  blunted  cone,  and  is  separated  from  the 
summit  by  a  slight  ravine.  Fine  views  are  enjoyed 
from  this  lookout.  Pressing  on  to  the  summit  we 
find  that  the  top  of  Potash  is  broad  and  flat,  necessitat- 
ing a  walk  from  side  to  side  in  order  to  get  views  in 
all  directions.  Potash's  altitude  is  about  3,000  feet. 

There  is  one  most  interesting  and  unique  natural 
phenomenon  which  is  known  as  the  "Balanced 
Boulder."  It  is  a  smoothly  rounded  rock  about  five 
feet  high  and  ten  feet  long.  This  stone  may  be  rocked 
by  the  hand.  In  the  summer  of  1915,  while  rocking 
it  back  and  forth  some  boys  pushed  it  too  hard  and 
it  rocked  too  far,  sticking  fast.  After  much  coaxing 
with  wooden  levers  we  finally  prevailed  upon  it  to 
return  to  its  original  pivot  so  that  now  it  is  in  working 
order  again.  This  boulder  may  be  found  lying  a  trifle 
below  the  southeastern  side  of  the  summit. 

From  this  little  mountain  the  view  is  superb.  To 
the  east,  our  valley,  with  its  few  tiny  houses,  ribbon- 
like  road,  and  the  silver  thread  of  river  unroll  at  our 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant     179 

feet.  Bear,  Moat  and  Chocorua  form  an  ideal  back- 
ground. Southward  loom  the  bristling  Hedgehog, 
massive  Passaconaway  and  Whiteface.  From  nowhere 
else  can  so  good  a  view  of  Passaconaway's  slide  be 
obtained  as  from  the  top  of  Potash.  The  slide  squarely 
faces  us  and  seems  very  near.  On  the  west  and  to  the 
north  stretch  miles  and  miles  of  unbroken  forest. 
Scores  of  mountains  are  in  sight.  In  these  directions 
not  a  sign  of  human  habitation  is  to  be  seen.  The 
poet's  longing  "for  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness"  12 
could  be  satisfied  here.  At  certain  times  in  the  year, 
namely,  in  the  blueberry  season,  a  lunch  need  not  be 
carried;  but  a  weapon,  for  defense  against  bears,  is 
not  amiss;  Potash  is  a  good  "blueberry  mountain" 
and  hence  popular  among  the  ursine  inhabitants  of 
"cloudland."  Potash  is  one  of  the  best  "little"  climbs 
to  be  had  here,  and  one  ought  not  to  leave  the  Albany 
Intervale  without  scaling  its  broad  ledges. 

From  the  Albany  Intervale,  Mt.  Whiteface  appears 
as  a  wooded  dome  rising  above  the  lofty  ridge  which 
extends  from  Passaconaway  to  Tripyramid.  But  from 
the  country  south  of  the  Sandwich  Range  the  appear- 
ance of  Whiteface  is  entirely  different.  The  wooded 
dome  becomes  a  huge  face  of  granite  cliffs.  Because 
of  this  aspect  from  the  lake  country  it  was  named 
Whiteface.  In  October,  1820,  a  landslide  laid  bare 
its  southern  face,13  forever  literally  making  the  moun- 
tain a  Whiteface. 

Whiteface  may  be  ascended  by  path  from  the  south 

"Cowper:  The  Task. 
wOsgood:  White  Mta.,  335. 


180  Passaconaway 

side,  from  Passaconaway,  from  Tripyramid  or  from 
Sandwich  Dome;  the  plateau  of  Flat  Mt.  connects 
Whiteface  with  the  last,  says  Osgood.  From  the 
southern  side,  at  McCrille's  farm  in  the  northeastern 
part  of  Sandwich  Township,  the  path  follows  up  the 
great  ravine  for  three  miles.  The  remaining  mile  is  a 
hard  pull  over  long  stretches  of  ledge  and  stones. 
Usually  within  three  to  four  hours  from  the  time  of 
entering  the  woods  the  summit  is  reached.14 

The  U.  S.  Coast  Survey  erected  a  signal-pole  on  the 
summit  and  from  here  a  comprehensive  view  of  the 
lake-country  may  be  enjoyed.  If  one  desires  he  may 
obtain  fine  views  from  the  northwestern  lookout.  A 
well  worn  path  leads  from  the  summit  a  little  to  the 
northeast,  where  there  is  a  deliciously  cool  spring.15 
Few  but  the  hardy  climb  Whiteface  from  our  Albany 
side,  although  it  is  frequently  ascended  from  the  south. 
Its  gigantic  granite  face  towers  4,057  feet  above  sea 
level,16  or  over  150  feet  lower  than  Passaconaway 
and  Tripyramid,  its  two  nearest  and  loftiest  neighbors. 
There  is  an  A.  M.  C.  register  on  Whiteface. 

Before  leaving  Whiteface  let  us  recall  Lucy  Lar- 
com's  lines: 

"CLOUDS  ON  WHITEFACE 


"So  lovingly  the  clouds  caress  his  head — 

The  mountain-monarch;  he,  severe  and  hard, 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,   335.     Comp.  A.  M.  C.  Guide,   1916,  332. 
"See  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  335. 
"Among  the  Clouds. 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant    181 

With  white  face  set  like  flint  horizon-ward; 
They  weaving  softest  fleece  of  gold  and  red, 
And  gossamer  of  airiest  silver  thread, 

To  wrap  his  form,  wind-beaten,  thunder-scarred. 
They  linger  tenderly,  and  fain  would  stay, 
Since  he,  earth-rooted,  may  not  float  away. 

He  upward  looks,  but  moves  not;  wears  their  hues; 
Draws  them  unto  himself;  their  beauty  shares; 

And  sometimes  his  own  semblance  seems  to  lose, 

His  grandeur  and  their  grace  to  interfuse; 
And  when  his  angels  leave  him  unawares, 
A  sullen  rock,  his  brow  to  heaven  he  bares."  17 

And  another  has  been  moved  to  pen  the  following: 
"WHITEFACE 

"Alpine  in  height,  a  towering  form  it  lies 
Against  the  blue,  colossal  in  the  morn; 
And  haply  now  the  foamy  clouds,  o'erborne, 
Shall  veil  its  summit  on  the  eastern  skies ; 
And  now  the  gentler  airs  shall  whisper  sighs, 
Or  the  imperious  tempest-storm,  forlorn, 
Whirl  o'er  the  grim  ravines  and  rock-ribs,  shorn ; 
Yet,  lo !  it  stands  immutable,  defies 
The  passion-throes  of  earth! 

Symbol  of  power, 

It  breasts  the  heavens;  and  when  the  shadows  fall, 
When  vales  are  blurred  in  dusk,  watching,  I  see 
A  nimbus  clinging,  like  a  golden  shower, 

On  its  white  brow.    Even  so,  when  truth  shall  pall 
On  lesser  souls,  the  great  seem  rapt  and  free!"  18 

All  but  one  of  the  southern  peaks  are  treated  in 
separate  chapters  as  they  bear  Indian  names,  namely, 

"Lucy  Larcom:  Clouds  on  Whiteface;  see  Musgrove:  The  White 
Hills  in  Poetry,  107. 

"Stephen  Henry  Thayer:  Whiteface;  see  Musgrove:  White  Hills 
in  Poetry,  98. 


1 82  Passaconavuay 

Passaconaway,  Wonalancct,  Paugus  and  Chocorut. 
The  remaining  one  is  the  bristling,  hump-backed  hill 
named  Hedgehog.  This  little  mountain  presents  an 
entirely  different  appearance  from  points  not  far  dis- 
tant from  each  other.  From  Mrs.  Colbath's,  a  mile 
and  a  quarter  down  the  road  from  the  hotel  site, 
Hedgehog  would  hardly  be  recognized  as  the  Hedge- 
hog visible  from  our  cottage;  while  from  Square 
Ledge,  its  scrawny  cliffs  present  an  appearance  both 
wild  and  terrible.  From  one  place  in  the  road  this 
mountain,  with  one  end  high  in  the  air  and  the  other 
lost  in  obscurity,  resembles  a  sinking  ship  with  bow 
high  in  the  air,  while  the  stern  is  submerged  beneath 
the  waves.  Especially  when  its  leaves  have  turned, 
in  the  autumn,  Hedgehog  appears  beautiful  and  even 
artistically  shaped.  Its  two  great  ledges — Allen's 
Ledge  on  the  north  and  the  huge  glass-like  roof  on  Lit- 
tle Hedgehog  to  the  southeast — shine  like  silver  epau- 
lets; above  and  between  these  shoulders  it  lifts  a  mas- 
sive head.  (This  is  the  only  hedgehog  on  record  as 
wearing  epaulets.)  Such  is  Hedgehog  as  seen  from 
our  part  of  the  valley.  It  is  about  2,600  feet  high. 

The  lumber  butchers  unmercifully  have  slashed  the 
poor  porcupine,  stripping  it  of  many  of  its  quills.  Yet 
its  sides  are  still  very  thorny,  trash  wood  and  debris 
being  strewn  every  which  way.  Perhaps  because  of 
this,  or  from  the  fact  that  very  similar  is  its  view  to 
that  from  Potash  (Hedgehog's  horizon,  however,  be- 
ing much  more  restricted)  this  mountain  is  seldom, 
if  ever,  ascended — to  the  summit — by  visitors. 

To  all  who  come  into  the  Albany  Intervale,  however, 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant     183 

even  to  people  past  the  mountain-climbing  age,  I  would 
suggest  that  they  go  up  to  Allen's  Ledge.  This  van- 
tage-point affords  a  remarkable  view — very  similar  to 
that  seen  from  the  higher  lookouts — of  all  but  the 
lake-country.  Allen's  Ledge  gives  you  more  for  your 
money  than  any  other  climb.  You  see  the  Passacon- 
away  Intervale,  Chocorua,  the  Moats  and  other  east- 
ern peaks,  and  the  Presidential  Range,  the  Nancy,  Car- 
rigain  and  other  ranges.  On  clear  days  we  have  been 
able  to  trace  the  slow  upward  crawl  of  the  unique 
Mount  Washington  engine  by  the  puffs  of  smoke  it 
emits  while  "chugging"  upward.  By  the  aid  of  the 
glass,  the  buildings  on  Washington  are  made  out. 
Vast  stretches  of  unbroken  wilderness  unroll  before 
our  eyes,  and,  by  the  light  and  dark  growths,  the 
track  of  fire,  hurricane  and  ax  can  be  traced  from 
the  Carrigain  Range  to  Moat,  Paugus,  Chocorua  and 
Bald. 

Time  and  again  while  reclining  upon  these  sun- 
kissed  ledges  we  have  seen  eagles  majestically  wheel- 
ing overhead.  Here,  on  one  occasion,  I  lay  awaiting 
the  onslaught  of  a  howling  wild-cat  which  didn't  at- 
tack, and  here  the  bears  come  for  their  blueberry  pies. 
All  this  for  only  a  half  mile's  tramp  after  entering 
the  woods! 

Allen's  Ledge  received  its  name  when  an  inquirer 
asked  Jack  Allen  what  those  rocks  on  Hedgehog  were 
called.  The  reply  was  prompt  and  unhesitating: 
"Them  are  called  Allen's  Ledge!"  So  from  that  day 
they  have  been  Allen's  Ledge,  an  enduring  monument 
to  human  modesty  and  veracity.  Once  an  aged  guest 


1 84  Passaconaway 

who  was  visiting  us  suggested  that  we  spend  our  noon 
hour  on  Passaconaway's  summit — this  being  her  first 
visit  to  mountain  land,  she  was  a  poor  judge  of  moun- 
tain distances.  At  length  we  prevailed  upon  her  to 
attempt  Allen's  Ledge  first.  She  found  even  this  little 
scramble  sufficiently  strenuous  to  satisfy  her  ambition 
to  "do"  a  mountain.  Being  very  rheumatic,  she  discov- 
ered that  the  descent  was  even  more  difficult  than  the 
upward  climb — it  being  much  harder  on  the  knees  to 
descend  than  to  ascend.  But  the  remarkably  fine  view 
from  the  ledge  amply  compensates  one  for  the  slight 
exertion,  even  if  one  belongs  in  the  stiff-kneed  class. 

Every  American  mountain-lover  should  plan  to  visit 
these  "Highlands  of  New  England"  before  or  after 
seeking  those  abroad.  Many  widely  traveled  tourists 
claim  that  our  own  Crystal  Hills  are  as  attractive  and 
interesting  as  those  "across  the  pond."  In  a  letter 
which  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  wrote  home  in  August,  1831, 
he  says:  "Nine  miles  to  Sandwich  to  breakfast,  by  a 
route  among  the  hills,  very  like  some  pretty  spots  in 
Switzerland."  19  The  Albany  Intervale  has  often  been 
likened  to  the  valley  of  the  Rhone. 

The  more  one  studies,  climbs,  and  conquers  these 
ozone-bathed  heights,  the  more  beautiful,  protecting, 
and  romantic  they  become.  Love  of  this  historic  wil- 
derness grows  upon  one;  and  when  one  once  has  drunk 
in  the  glory  and  strength  of  the  mountains,  be  he  native 
highlander  or  city-born,  if  "cabin'd,  cribb'd,  confined"  20 

"Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Henry  Ware,  Jr.,  333. 
"Shakespeare:  Hamlet 


Sunset  Rampart  and  the  Southwestern  Quadrant     185 

within  the  suffocating  brick  walls  of  "civilization,"  he 
pines  for  the  soul-thrilling  freedom  and  exhilarating 
out-of-doorness  of  wind-swept,  cloud-washed,  sun- 
kissed  sky-land. 


CHAPTER  X 

SABBADAY'S  TRIPLE  FALL 

BY  following  the  Swift  River  and  Sabbaday  Brook 
trails  about  a  mile  and  a  quarter  from  the  former 
Passaconaway  House  (Shackford's) ,  a  charming  triple 
waterfall  on  Sabbaday  Brook  is  reached.  This  was 
called  by  the  early  explorers  of  the  valley  Sabbaday 
Falls,  because  it  was  on  Sunday  that  they  reached  this 
brook  where  the  decision  was  made  to  return  home.1 
Sweetser  calls  the  falls  Church  Falls,  either  because 
they  were  painted  by  F.  E.  Church,  the  artist — the 
picture  being  in  the  Woburn  Public  Library — or  in 
memory  of  Charles  Church,  an  early  settler  who  lum- 
bered near  the  falls. 

There  used  to  be  an  ancient  foot-path,  carpeted, 
with  dead  leaves,  leading  from  the  open  intervale  up 
the  Swift  River.  According  to  the  legends  of  the  val- 
ley, this  was  an  old  Indian  trail,  worn  smooth  by  long 
and  frequent  use.  The  A.  M.  C.  had  placed  signs,  so 
that  a  visitor  could  find  the  falls  unaided.  In  1915, 
however,  the  lumberjacks  so  cut  and  slashed  this  his- 
toric trail  as  to  obliterate  it,  leaving  no  trace  of  its 
famous  "lightning  tree,"  etc.  By  walking  the  lumber 
railroad  and  then  following  a  logging  road,  one  may 
now  reach  the  falls,  though  by  a  route  shorter  and 

1  See  Chapter  on  Albany. 

1 86 


Sabbaday' s  Triple  Fall  187 

uglier  than  the  old  Indian  trail.  But  the  devastating 
ax  did  not  stop  at  the  trail.  It  injured  Sabbaday  Falls 
by  so  cutting  the  timber  along  the  brook-bed  above  the 
falls  that  the  watershed  is  now  laid  open  to  the  merci- 
less sun,  and  the  volume  of  water  pouring  over  the 
falls  is  greatly  diminished. 

On  the  very  edge  of  the  flume,  prone  on  the  ground, 
lies  a  tree  which  must  have  been  blown  over  in  some 
hurricane.  In  falling,  the  tree  lifted  its  roots  out  of 
their  original  bed  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form  a  natural 
railing  opposite  the  prettiest  part  of  the  falls.  Juliet's 
Balcony  is  the  name  we  have  given  this  parapet,  and 
hundreds  of  visitors  have  leaned  over  it  during  the 
past  twenty  years.  Few  indeed  are  the  persons  leaving 
the  Passaconaway  valley  without  first  having  visited 
Sabbaday  Falls. 

Sabbaday  offers  numerous  natural  wonders;  the 
ever  moist  sides  of  the  chasm,  the  fall  itself,  its 
punch-bowl,  and  the  Devil's  wash-basin  still  remain 
intact.  Prof.  Huntington  gives  this  account  of  the 
falls,  from  the  standpoint  of  an  expert  geologist:  "The 
rock  is  a  common  granite,  in  which  there  is  a  trap-dike, 
and  it  is  the  disintegration  of  this,  probably,  that 
formed  the  chasm  below  where  the  steep  fall  now  is. 
Above,  just  before  we  come  to  the  falls,  the  stream 
turns  to  the  west,  and  the  water  runs  through  a  chan- 
nel worn  in  the  solid  rock,  and  then,  in  one  leap  of 
twenty-five  feet,  it  clears  the  perpendicular  wall  of 
rock,  and  falls  into  the  basin  below  almost  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  chasm.  Great  is  the  commotion 
produced  by  the  direct  fall  of  so  great  a  body  of  water, 


1 88  Passaconaway 

and  out  of  the  basin,  almost  at  right  angles  with  the 
fall,  it  goes  in  whirls  and  eddies.  The  chasm  extends 
perhaps  one  hundred  feet  below  where  the  water  first 
strikes.  Its  width  is  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet,  and  the 
height  of  the  wall  is  from  fifty  to  sixty.  The  water 
has  worn  out  the  granite  on  either  side  of  the  trap,  so 
that,  as  the  clear,  limpid  stream  flows  through  the 
chasm,  the  entire  breadth  of  the  dike  is  seen.  The  fall 
of  the  water,  the  whirls  and  eddies  of  the  basin,  the 
flow  of  the  limpid  stream  over  the  dark  band  of  trap 
set  in  the  bright,  polished  granite,  the  high,  overhang- 
ing wall  of  rock,  all  combine  to  form  a  picture  of 
beauty,  which,  once  fixed  in  the  mind,  is  a  joy  forever."  2 

The  water  in  the  gorge  below  the  middle  fall  is  deep 
and  clear,  although  it  boils  and  roars  and  is  churned 
into  foam  as  it  comes  from  the  upper  falls.  Then  it 
plunges  over  the  third  and  lowest  fall  into  a  pool  of 
great  depth  in  a  circular  basin,  the  sandy  bottom  of 
which  may  be  clearly  seen  through  the  water.  So 
swiftly  does  the  current  shoot  into  this  pool  that  none 
but  strong  swimmers  venture  into  its  depths. 

On  the  ledges  at  the  foot  of  this  flume  there  is  a 
"pot-hole"  or  a  cup-shaped  hollow,  symmetrically 
gouged  out  of  the  solid  rock  in  an  almost  perfect  circle 
of  perhaps  two  feet  in  depth  and  three  feet  in  diameter. 
This  is  always  partly  full  of  water  and  we  call  it  the 
Devil's  wash-basin.  Such  pot-holes  are  familiar 
enough  to  geologists.  The  bed  of  the  Connecticut 
River  has  many  of  them. 

Not  the  most  uninteresting  part  of  Sabbaday  Falls 

"Osgood:  White  Mts.,  343. 


Photo  by  J.  T.  Porall 

SABBADAY'S  PUNCH  BOWL 


Sabbaday's   Triple  Fall  189 

is  the  upper  fall.  Originally  the  water  flowed  over  the 
edge  of  a  flat  shelf  of  granite.  Inch  by  inch,  however, 
the  flowing  water  has  worn  away  the  granite,  cutting 
a  polished  channel  back  into  the  solid  rock,  until  now 
the  shelf  has  been  eaten  into  a  dozen  feet  or  more. 
Hence,  the  water  of  this  upper  fall,  instead  of  drop- 
ping perpendicularly  as  it  did  originally,  now  flows 
down  a  comparatively  sloping  incline. 

But  the  most  picturesque  part  of  the  triple  falls  of 
Sabbaday  is  the  middle  fall.  Under  the  flat  shelf  over 
which  the  fall  first  leaps  there  is  a  long,  shallow  cav- 
ern, perhaps  eighteen  or  twenty  inches  in  height.  This 
depression  extends  in  a  horizontal  semicircle  above 
the  rim  of  the  punch-bowl,  concerning  which  we  are 
about  to  speak.  Men  have  wormed  their  way  along 
on  this  cut-under  shelf  until,  reaching  the  spot  where 
the  water  pours  over,  they  have  endeavored  to  pierce 
the  liquid  column  with  their  fist.  So  powerfully  does 
the  water  rush  here  that  only  the  strongest  can  thrust 
the  arm  through  the  liquid  veil. 

Then  there  is  the  punch-bowl.  This  is  a  smoothly 
polished  basin  of  pinkish  granite,  hollowed  out  like  a 
bowl,  perhaps  five  feet  in  diameter.  In  this  basin 
the  water  whirls  and  twists  around  in  such  a  way  as 
to  form  a  curl  not  unlike  the  one  on  a  "kewpie's"  head, 
and  then  it  leaps  into  the  abyss  with  a  roar.  Some- 
times, after  a  storm,  the  curl  assumes  the  form  of  a 
face.  This  we  have  christened  "The  Spirit  of  the 
Falls." 

The  perpendicular  walls  of  this  wonderful  chasm 
are  always  wet  and  almost  painfully  cold.  The  moss, 


190  Passaconaway 

with  which  the  face  of  the  precipice  is  covered,  retains 
the  moisture  and  lets  it  trickle  down  incessantly  over 
the  perpendicular  ledge. 

One  bright  summer  morning,  while  my  father  and 
I  were  working  over  near  Camp  Comfort,  at  the  edge 
of  the  woods  near  the  Mast  Road,  a  child  came  run- 
ning towards  us  shouting  at  the  top  of  her  shrill  voice. 
We  hurried  to  our  cottage  where  we  learned  that 

M ,  who  had  brought  up  two  friends  to  camp  near 

the  falls,  had  just  run  through  the  valley  shouting, 

«W has  shot  himself  at  the  falls!"  The  two 

older  Smith  boys,  starting  off  on  the  run,  already  had 
disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  falls.  My  father 
made  a  stretcher  by  sawing  off  the  legs  of  a  canvas 
cot,  gathered  up  a  roll  of  cheesecloth  for  bandage,  and 
started  after  them.  He  met  the  party  a  few  rods  from 
the  falls.  The  brother  of  the  injured  man  had  torn 
his  clothes  into  strips  to  bind  the  wound  and  make 
cross-straps  for  a  rude  stretcher  of  poles.  Quickly 
the  wound  was  re-bandaged  with  cheesecloth  and  the 
sufferer  transferred  to  the  more  comfortable  stretcher. 

While  the  victim  was  being  brought  down  the  "old 

Indian  path,"  M raced  down  the  town  road  for 

a  horse  and  wagon.  Meeting  a  native  who  was  com- 
fortably jogging  along  in  his  "hahnsum  kerridge,"  3 

M breathlessly  explained  the  predicament  of  his 

friend,  but  had  considerable  difficulty  in  convincing  the 
owner  that  the  need  was  urgent.  He  must  first  "bait 

his  horse,"  he  argued.  But  M was  insistent  and 

had  his  way.  Just  as  the  extemporized  ambulance 

*  Holmes :  One  Hoss  Shay. 


Sabbaday's  Triple  Fall  191 

reached   the   woods,    the   party   appeared.      W , 

though  chalky-faced,  weak  from  loss  of  blood,  and 
suffering  agonies  from  the  tourniquet,  was  game  to 
the  core  and  did  not  permit  a  murmur  to  escape  him. 
At  the  hotel  a  bed-spring  was  secured  and  the  wounded 
man  was  transferred  to  the  mail-wagon.  Soon  the  six- 
teen miles  were  covered  and  the  party  dashed  up  to 
the  Conway  Station  just  in  time  for  the  afternoon  train. 
That  evening  found  the  luckless  camper  in  a  Boston 
hospital,  his  wound  properly  dressed,  his  life  and 
limb  saved.  To-day  he  is  as  well  and  sound  as  ever 
and  a  stranger  never  would  know  how  close  a  call  he 
once  had.  The  accident  took  place  thus:  The  young 
men  had  been  swimming  in  the  pool  at  the  foot  of 
Sabbaday  Falls,  and  were  putting  on  their  clothes 

again.     W wore  a  44-caliber  Colt  revolver  in  a 

holster  of  very  flexible  leather.  This  holster  swung 
against  a  rock,  discharging  the  weapon.  The  bullet 
passed  through  the  leg,  just  missing  the  bone.  Evi- 
dently it  hit  a  large  blood-vessel,  for  he  bled  "like  a 
butcher." 

Usually  the  pilgrimage  to  Sabbaday  Falls  is  made 
on  the  visitor's  first  Sunday  in  the  intervale.  The  very 
name  suggests  such  a  plan,  and  moreover  the  quiet, 
cool  stroll  makes  an  ideal  "Sabbath  Day's  journey." 
Perhaps  we  may  see  a  big  buck  jump  up  and  bound 
away;  or  we  may  find  the  hen-hawks  "at  home"  on 
their  nest.  But  even  if  we  catch  no  glimpses  of  wild 
life,  the  winding  river,  the  singing  brook,  the  great 
pipe-organ  of  the  falls,  the  life-giving  air  and  heal- 
ing sunshine  will  amply  reward  us  for  our  attendance 


192  Passaconaway 

at  the  falls  church  at  Church's  Falls  on  the  Sabba- 
day.  And  within  the  sacred  walls  of  such  a  sanctuary 
one's  mind  is  filled  with  thoughts  of  Him  who  is  Lord 
of  the  earth  and  heavens,  who  gives  us  mountain, 
brook  and  blue  sky.4 

4  Frank  Bolles  has  left  us  an  interesting  account  of  a  Christmas 
which  he  spent  at  Sabbaday  Falls.  (Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bear- 
camp  Water,  273-285.) 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  DEER  PONDS 

ALMOST  beneath  the  beetling  crags  of  Green's 
Cliff,  and  at  the  base  of  the  gentle  northeastern 
slope  of  Sugar  Hill,  lie  two  little  ponds,  called  the 
Deer  Ponds.  The  larger  of  these,  and  the  one  which 
lies  the  nearer  to  the  town  road,  is  called  Church 
Pond,  or  Church's  Pond,  probably  in  memory  of 
Charles  Church,  a  former  inhabitant  of  Albany  Inter- 
vale. 

Church  Pond  is  a  natural  beauty  spot.  With  artisti- 
cally curved  outlines,  dotted  with  gray  rocks  and 
fringed  with  dark  firs,  this  little  sheet  of  water  is  a  veri- 
table gem  set  in  the  dark  recesses  of  the  wilderness. 
From  a  distance  this  pond,  which  is  enclosed  by  trees 
on  three  sides,  appears  like  a  blue  mirror,  sometimes  re- 
flecting a  fleecy  cloud;  but  only  one-half  of  its  beauty 
usually  is  seen,  for  one  arm  is  invisible  from  such  a 
vantage-point  as  Potash  or  Hedgehog.  Running  east 
and  west,  Church's  Pond  is  divided  into  eastern  and 
western  sections;  the  former  is  much  smaller  than  the 
latter,  but  contains  the  outlet,  which  is  Church's  or 
Pond  Brook;  the  western  section  of  the  pond  is  wider, 
longer,  and  deeper,  and  it  is  all  that  is  visible  from 
the  summits  lying  to  the  southward. 

Parallel  with  the  eastern  arm  of  the  pond,  south- 
193 


194  Passaconaway 

east  of  and  opposite  the  place  where  the  two  parts  of 
the  pond  join,  there  rises  a  long  monadnock.  This 
hillock — "The  Knoll,"  we  call  it — begins  to  rise  grad- 
ually near  the  outlet  of  the  pond,  and,  running  west- 
ward, gently  slopes  upward  until,  just  opposite  the  junc- 
tion of  the  arms  of  the  pond,  it  drops  off  sharply  to 
the  water  on  its  northern  side  and  western  end.  This 
knoll,  having  been  burnt  over  a  few  years  ago,  is 
covered  with  birches,  pines,  charred  and  prostrate  logs, 
blueberry  bushes  and  rocks.  Its  extreme  western  end 
is  covered  with  a  fine  grove  of  tall  trees.  The  crest, 
thus  shaded  by  the  grove  and  carpeted  with  pine 
needles,  offers  an  unexcelled  vantage-point. 

South  of  the  knoll  and  pond  there  lies  a  large  area 
of  burnt-over,  marshy  land,  which  bears  the  appropri- 
ate name  of  "the  bog."  This  bog  is  nearly  as  large 
as  the  cleared  area  of  our  intervale  and  is  so  marshy 
that  even  in  the  height  of  drought  one  is  fortunate 
indeed  if  he  traverses  it  dry-shod.  Carpeted  with  bril- 
liant reddish-brown  bushes,  dotted  and  steepled  with 
dark  shafts  of  charred  and  weathered  stubs,  with  here 
and  there  a  considerable  cluster  of  these  upright  ruins, 
the  bog  presents  a  marked  contrast  to  the  long  sheet 
of  water  with  its  symmetrical  dark  green  background. 
The  bog  is  a  famous  place  for  pitcher-plants. 

From  the  knoll  not  only  may  a  commanding  view 
of  bog,  pond,  and  surrounding  forests  be  had,  but  also 
the  Sandwich  Range  looms  up  steeper  and  more  im- 
posing than  from  any  other  viewpoint  in  the  Albany 
Valley.  Even  little  Potash  and  Hedgehog  appear  lofty 
and  precipitous;  Passaconaway  and  Tripyramid  seem 


The  Deer  Ponds  195 

more  gigantic  than  ever;  and  Green's  Cliff  defiantly 
raises  its  oblong  redoubt  far  above  us,  and,  from 
here,  is  a  mountain  worthy  of  respect  and  admiration 
— a  truly  magnificent  and  imposing  rampart.  One  of 
the  chief  attractions  in  the  entire  valley  to  me  is  the 
wilderness  solitude  and  romance  of  this  secluded  knoll 
at  Church's  Pond. 

Centuries  ago,  probably  when  the  ice  melted  after 
the  last  glacial  period,  the  entire  valley — the  Swift 
River  or  Albany  Intervale — was  covered  by  the  rip- 
pling waters  of  an  intermontane  lake.  This  fact  is 
proved  by  the  deep  deposits  of  rich  loam  throughout 
the  intervale,  and  by  the  absence  of  stones,  so  com- 
mon in  most  New  England  fields.  As  we  have  already 
said,  the  innumerable  rocks  and  boulders  on  Sugar 
Hill  prove  that  this  eminence  was  either  an  island  or 
the  termination  of  the  lake,  if  we  may  take  Frank 
Bolles  as  an  authority.1  After  years  and  probably 
centuries  of  pounding  and  drilling,  the  Swift  River 
finally  bored  and  reamed  its  way  through  the  rocky 
gorge  between  Bear  and  Bald  Mountains,  and  thus  in 
time  drained  off  most  of  the  water.  Still  the  lake  did 
not  give  up  without  resistance.  Repeatedly  it  braced 
itself  for  a  struggle  and  made  stand  after  stand,  but 
all  in  vain.  On  the  hill  at  Mrs.  Colbath's,  ridge  after 
ridge  was  formed,  showing  how  resolutely  the  lake 
postponed  its  ultimate  defeat.  But  finally,  the  last 
barrier  gave  way.  All  that  remains  of  the  original  lake 
is  this  pair  of  twin  Deer  Ponds  and  the  bog. 

The  red  man  was  a  great  lover  of  beauty;  we  find  \ 

1  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bcarcarap  Water,  280-1. 


196  Passaconaway 

Passaconaway  referring  to  his  "beautiful  island  of 
Naticot."  It  is  a  noticeable  fact  that  the  Indians  lived 
in  the  most  beautiful  spots  and  made  their  paths  along 
the  most  picturesque  routes.2  We  read  in  the  early 
history  of  a  great  abundance  of  beaver  in  the  Albany 
valley,  and  it  is  highly  probable  that  hundreds  of  these 
industrious  little  workers  lived  along  these  very  shores. 
The  later  records  also  tell  of  vast  quantities  of  beaver 
killed  in  the  intervale.  Such  a  country  the  Indian 
would  prize  highly.  Taking  everything  into  consid- 
eration, therefore,  we  should  not  go  very  far  astray 
were  we  to  guess  that,  centuries  before  a  white  man 
ever  tickled  this  pond  with  a  pickerel  hook,  the  In- 
dians were  building  their  fires  on  the  very  knoll  which 
we  love  so  well.  That  the  Indians  used  to  trap  in 
the  intervale  is  proved  by  the  Russell  Manuscript,  from 
which  we  shall  quote  later. 

Not  until  the  lumbermen  built  a  camp  on  its  very 
shores,  did  we  ever  fail  to  see  deer  whenever  we 
visited  this  pond.  Generally  we  had  but  to  sit  quietly 
upon  the  knoll  for  a  few  minutes,  when  we  would  be 
rewarded  by  seeing  a  deer  step  gracefully  from  the 
forest  to  the  water's  edge,  and  then  slowly  proceed 
into  the  water.  These  innocent  and  beautiful  creatures 
always  excite  my  admiration.  With  their  yellowish 
brown  and  white  coats,  and  standing  knee-deep  in  wa- 
ter, they  are  prettier  than  any  picture  that  can  be 
painted.  While  feasting  our  gaze  upon  these  creatures 
we  are  lost  in  admiration,  only  being  brought  back  to 
earth  by  the  soft  splashing  or  rippling  of  the  water 

'John  S.  C.  Abbott:  Life  and  Adventures  of  Miles  Standish,  133. 


The  Deer  Ponds  197 

as  a  buck  wades  slowly  about,  or  by  the  whispering 
of  a  gentle  breeze.  We  have  watched  the  deer  scores 
of  times,  when  their  proximity  made  field-glasses  un- 
necessary; and  so  long  as  nothing  startled  them,  they 
would  feed  on  the  lily-roots,  for  half  an  hour  or  more, 
before  stalking  off  into  the  woods. 

One  cloudy  afternoon,  in  July,  1912,  my  father  and 
I  came  here  planning  to  try  for  pickerel;  but  we  did 
not  catch  any,  nor  did  we  even  try  for  them.  It  was 
our  custom  to  approach  cautiously  across  the  bog. 
Thinking  that  our  chances  for  seeing  game  were  ex- 
ceptionally good  on  that  day,  we  skirted  the  southern 
ridge  of  the  knoll  until  the  western  end  had  been 
reached.  The  semi-darkness  of  a  threatening  sky  con- 
cealed us  perfectly.  Straightening  up  behind  some 
bushes  near  the  shore,  we  saw  two  groups  or  families 
of  deer  standing  directly  opposite  us  in  the  water.  One 
family,  the  nearer  to  the  western  end  of  the  pond,  con- 
sisted of  a  doe  and  a  fawn;  the  second  group,  of  a 
mother  and  two  fawns;  making  a  total  of  five  deer 
seen  at  once.  The  cute  little  speckled  fawns  ate  as 
industriously  and  seriously  as  their  elders.  Every  de- 
tail was  distinctly  visible,  even  to  the  tiny  spots  on  the 
youngsters'  sides.  From  one  side  to  the  other  the  nerv- 
ous "white  flags"  of  the  mothers  perpetually  twitched. 
Slowly,  and  with  the  dignified  tread  of  a  "Scotch  High- 
lander," they  marched  from  one  lily-pad  to  another. 
Time  was  nothing  to  them,  and,  no  doubt,  standing 
there  as  undisturbed  and  as  independent  as  one  could 
desire,  they  were  enjoying  a  real  "Thanksgiving  din- 
ner." For  over  an  hour  we  watched  their  graceful 


198  Passaconaway 

movements.  Not  until  we  emptied  our  revolver  into 
a  vicious  snake,  did  the  deer  vanish. 

One  hot  July  forenoon,  my  attention  was  attracted 
by  some  enormous  birds  not  far  away.  On  their  long 
legs  they  stood  fully  four  feet  high.  At  first  sight  I 
thought  they  must  be  storks,  but  they  proved  to  be 
great  blue  herons.  I  had  seen  marsh  hens,  but  these 
birds  almost  could  have  swallowed  the  ones  with  which 
I  had  been  familiar.  All  four  new,  from  their  orig- 
inal position  near  the  knoll,  directly  over  our  heads  and 
off  over  the  bog.  They  were  not  fifty  feet  above  us 
when  they  passed  over.  They  rushed  by  with  a  great 
beating  of  wings,  their  pipe-stem  legs  folded  against 
their  bodies  and  their  feet  sticking  far  out  behind. 
The  wings  of  these  birds  seemed  to  be  as  broad  as  any 
eagle's  I  had  ever  seen,  and  I  shall  not  venture  a  guess 
at  their  length.  Never  had  I  viewed  such  winged  crea- 
tures; to  one  accustomed  to  seeing  hen-hawks,  mud- 
hens,  owls  and  crows,  the  appearance  of  these  great 
birds  is  not  only  startling  but  somewhat  awe-inspiring. 
Their  grandeur  lies  in  stature  and  length  of  limb, 
rather  than  in  fineness  of  feature,  or  grace  of  movement. 

That  same  afternoon  a  friend  of  ours,  while  cross- 
ing the  bog,  met  an  old  mother  bear  coming  with  her 
two  cubs  from  Green's  Cliff.  Being  unarmed,  he 
deemed  discretion  to  be  the  better  part  of  valor;  for 
experience  had  taught  him  to  give  a  wide  berth  to 
Madame  Bear,  which  he  promptly  proceeded  to  do. 

Some  years  ago,  our  neighbor,  S ,  was  rapidly 

crossing  the  tumbledown  between  the  pond  and  Green's 
Cliff.  One  exceptionally  large  windfall  lay  right  in 


The  Deer  Ponds  199 

his  path.  Clearing  this  at  one  leap,  his  foot  descended 
on  something  which  yielded  somewhat  under  his  weight, 
something  surprisingly  soft.  And  no  wonder,  for  it 
was  a  bear  that  had  been  sleeping  close  to  the  log. 
The  woodsman  did  not  hesitate  as  to  what  course  to 
pursue.  Upon  relating  his  experience  he  was  asked 
what  he  did  next,  whereupon  he  immediately  replied, 
"I  think  I  did  a  mile  in  two  minutes." 

Another  friend  of  ours  was  fishing  in  Church's  Pond 
about  dusk.  He  was  after  pickerel  and,  as  the  raft 
was  unavailable,  he  was  wading  about  knee-deep  in 
water.  "Crack,  snap!"  He  looked  around,  for  the 
noise  came  from  the  brush  near  the  water's  edge.  He 
slowly  fished  down  the  pond,  but  the  occasional  break- 
ing of  twigs  kept  pace  with  him  on  the  shore.  In  the 
gathering  twilight  he  was  beset  with  many  fancies. 
Once  he  thought  he  saw  the  savage  face  of  a  lynx 
peering  towards  him.  And  perhaps  it  was  not  all  im- 
agination either,  for,  on  going  ashore  and  following 
his  trail  back  across  the  bog,  he  saw  paw-prints  deeply 
imprinted  in  the  mud,  the  prints  of  a  wild-cat,  tracks 
larger  than  a  man's  clenched  fist.  Further  search  re- 
vealed that  the  cat  had  tramped  up  and  down  the  bank, 
probably  changing  his  position  as  often  as  the  man 
changed  his.  Evidently  the  cat  coveted  the  contents 
of  a  somewhat  heavy  fish-basket.  With  darkness 
rapidly  closing  in  and  with  the  knowledge  of  having 

been  tracked,  H did  not  stand  upon  the  order  of 

his  going,  but  departed  for  civilization  with  all  speed. 
Later  it  was  found  that  all  the  time  he  was  searching 
for  the  tracks  and  even  for  quite  a  distance  on  his  way 


2OO  Passaconaway 

home  he  was  being  followed.  This  was  shown  by  the 
paw-prints  in  the  soft  mud  which  the  man  discovered 
next  day.  The  lynx,  though  eager  for  the  fish,  evi- 
dently lacked  the  nerve  to  attack  the  fisherman. 

One  of  our  former  neighbors,  X ,  was  return- 
ing, I  think  from  the  pond,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river,  when  he  felt  that  something  was  following  him. 
The  farther  he  went  the  stronger  this  feeling  became. 
At  last  he  was  sure  he  heard  a  twig  snap  behind  him. 
At  least  he  would  satisfy  his  curiosity;  so  he  concealed 
himself  behind  a  big  tree  a  few  rods  from  and  com- 
manding the  path.  Nor  had  he  long  to  wait,  for  within 
a  few  seconds  afterwards  a  Canadian  lynx,  with  nose 
sniffing  the  air,  came  trotting  down  the  path.  Draw- 
ing bead  carefully,  X fired.  The  cat  sprang  into 

the  air  and,  with  a  frantic  kick  or  two,  expired — shot 
through  the  heart.  Mr.  Povall  had  the  trophy  stuffed 
and  it  was  on  exhibition  at  the  Passaconaway  House 
until  February  13,  1916,  when  the  hotel  burned.  It 
is  now  in  the  present  writer's  possession. 

Scores  of  these  little  anecdotes  might  be  narrated — 
of  deer  shot  on  the  ice,  of  a  silver  fox  seen  here,  of  the 
moose  which  treed  some  boys  on  the  knoll  (narrated  in 
the  chapter  on  Albany  in  this  work)  and  of  the  bears 
shot  or  trapped  here  at  Church's  Pond,  but  space  does 
not  permit.  Suffice  it  to  say  that,  within  a  year  or  two, 
now,  as  soon  as  the  lumber  fiends  shall  have  left,  its 
wild  and  lawful  tenants  will  return,  and  then  new 
experiences  will  thrill  the  visitor. 

The  second  Deer  Pond  is  even  more  secluded 
than  is  Church  Pond.  A  sense  of  utter  loneliness  and 


The  Deer  Ponds 

. 
desolation  sweeps  over  one  as  he  gazes  upon  this  tiny 

sheet  of  water  so  completely  buried  in  the  great  wil- 
derness.  Consequently  it  offers  a  paradise  to  wood 
folk  and  is  a  popular  summer  and  winter  resort  among 
the  beasts  of  the  forest. 

One  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  press  his  way 
through  to  the  second  Deer  Pond  in  order  to  see  game. 
You  can  see  it  at  Church's  Pond.  But  remember  one 
thing,  you  can't  see  game  if  you  telegraph  to  it  the 
fact  of  your  approach  when  you  are  a  half  mile  away. 
Once  we  were  watching  a  beautiful  buck  feeding  near 
the  base  of  the  knoll,  when  a  sudden  peal  of  laughter 
at  the  western  end  of  the  pond  startled  us.  As  quick 
as  thought,  Mr.  Deer  bounded  away  among  the  trees, 
and  almost  before  we  knew  it  he  was  gone.  Shortly 
after,  a  party  of  hotel  guests  appeared  on  the  shore 
and  their  dog  took  up  the  fresh  scent  of  the  buck,  but 
soon  returned  unsuccessful.  Upon  joining  our  party 
they  said  they  had  seen  no  deer  and  not  in  all  their 
trips  here  had  they  ever  seen  any.  In  my  opinion  their 
only  chance  to  see  deer  is  that  the  deer  may  become 
stone-deaf  from  the  fall  shooting.  So,  when  going  to  a 
quiet  secluded  spot  like  this,  don't  go  like  a  human 
megaphone,  but  as  a  listener  and  spectator.  Those 
who  keep  silent,  move  quietly  and  look,  are  seldom 
disappointed.  Remember  the  sage  observation  of  the 
old  stage-driver  who  said:  "I've  driven  hundreds  of 
people  over  this  very  road,  and  most  of  them  hear 
nothin',  see  nothin',  and  just  talk  on  and  on  about 
nothin'." 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  OLD  MAST  ROAD 

THERE  is  an  old,  well-traveled  road,  though  now 
in  many  places  blotted  out  by  lumbermen's  debris, 
which  runs  south  from  our  valley,  leaving  the  town 
road  almost  opposite  the  Passaconaway  House.  This 
old  road  runs  past  the  foot  of  Square  Ledge,  through 
the  Paugus-Passaconaway  Notch  to  Wonalancet.  This 
ancient  road  has  long  been  known  as  the  "Old  Mast 
Road."  Along  this  very  road  trees — gigantic  pines 
and  spruces — bearing  the  royal  "broad  arrow,"  were 
hauled  from  the  slopes  of  Chocorua,  Paugus  and  Pas- 
saconaway to  the  level  country  south  of  us.1  As  the 
mast  industry,  called  by  many  the  most  important  and 
most  picturesque  enterprise  before  the  Revolution,2 
formed  an  important  part  of  the  early  history  of  these 
frontier  towns,  let  us  take  a  nearer  view  of  the  mast- 
trade. 

No  one  can  understand  the  colonial  history  of  New 
Hampshire  who  is  not  familiar  with  this  great  enter- 
prise in  which  public  administration  and  private  busi- 
ness joined.  The  Spaniards  had  sought  this  continent 
impelled  by  lust  for  gold,  but  in  only  a  few  cases  were 

1  Compare  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  44. 
'Weeden:  Econ.  and  Social  Hist,  of  New  Eng.,  vol.  I,  356. 

202 


The  Old  Mast  Road  203 

they  rewarded.  The  hardy  British  settlers,  however, 
coined  gold  in  the  New  World  by  an  entirely  different 
process.  They  found  that  the  colonies  could  furnish 
spars  and  masts  and  even  ships — "the  best  in  the 
world"  3 — and  by  means  of  these  stout,  swift-sailing 
ships  the  gold  of  the  Spaniard  could  easily  be  captured. 

It  is  said  that  one,  and  probably  the  only,  great 
thing  the  English  king  did  was  to  place  the  "mast- 
trade"  upon  a  broad  and  firm  foundation.  The  gov- 
ernment created  a  fleet  whose  sails  whitened  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  globe,  a  fleet  which  conquered  the 
Dutch,  outstripped  the  French,  and  which  has  com- 
manded the  seas  ever  since  the  establishment  of  the 
mast  trade  in  our  New  England  colonies.  Industrious, 
skilful  and  energetic  men  came  to  this  country  to  help 
promote  this  trade.  Not  only  did  New  England  sup- 
ply the  immense  Royal  Navy  with  masts,  spars,  and 
bowsprits,  but  the  merchant  marine  was  fitted  out  here 
also.  We  find  that,  in  the  later  development  of  the 
trade,  ships  were  built  right  on  the  New  England 
shores  for  the  express  purpose  of  transporting  the 
huge  sticks  4  hewn  from  the  virgin  forests. 

We  find  the  Provincial  Government  of  Massachu- 
setts, in  1668,  reserving  for  the  express  use  of  the 
Royal  Navy  all  white  pines  which,  one  yard  from  the 
ground,  measured  two  feet  in  diameter.  King  Wil- 
liam also  caused  acts  to  be  passed  to  this  effect,  and 
about  this  time  appointed  a  surveyor,  who  was  to 
mark  every  tree  suitable  for  a  mast  with  the  "Broad 

"Weeden,  vol.  I,  243. 
*The  same. 


204  Pas  sac  on  aw  ay 

Arrow  of  the  Crown."5  In  1708,  the  Government 
of  New  Hampshire  passed  a  similar  law,  and  we  find 
a  heavy  fine  imposed  for  violation.  Such  legislation 
was  odious  to  the  hard-working  settlers,  and  we  have 
reason  to  suspect  that  on  more  than  one  occasion  a 
noble  mast  was  cut  into  kindling  wood.6 

The  agents  and  contractors  who  carried  on  the  great 
traffic  amassed  huge  fortunes,  but  not  so  with  the  men 
who  wielded  the  ax  or  the  ox-goad.7  The  felling  of 
one  mast  would  require  scores  of  men,  and  thousands 
were  employed  by  the  agents;  but  because  there  was 
almost  no  business  in  the  summer  time,  because  the 
workers  were  supplied  with  the  bare  necessities  of  life 
and  very  poorly  paid,  the  laborers  were  always  antici- 
pating their  wages,  and,  as  they  themselves  phrased  it, 
"working  for  a  dead  horse."  Thus  they  were  kept 
in  a  poverty-stricken  and  dependent  state.8  By  such 
a  system  contractors  heaped  up  enormous  fortunes. 

No  matter  how  rigidly  the  mast  laws  were  enforced, 
the  experienced  woodsmen  could,  with  little  diffi- 
culty, avoid  the  penalty  although  they  broke  the 
laws.  It  does  seem  as  though  in  some  cases  they 
cut  down  the  "favorites  of  nature"  9  just  out  of  spite. 
Then,  too,  because  of  the  great  number  of  these  forest 
monarchs,  many  a  mast  tree  must  necessarily  rot  in 
the  woods  before  the  contractors  could  reach  it.  Yet, 

5Belknap:  Hist,  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  II,  23-4. 

8  Same. 

TBelknap:  Hist,  of  N.  H.,  vol.  Ill,  150. 

8  Same. 

9  Weeden :  Econ.  and  Social  Hist,  of  New  England,  vol.  II,  783. 


The  Old  Mast  Road  205 

if  it  bore  the  "broad  arrow,"  it  must  not  be  touched. 
Many,  too,  after  being  felled,  were  found  to  be  un- 
sound and  were  left  to  decay.  All  these  facts  seem 
to  have  been  obnoxious  to  our  hardy  and  thrifty  New 
Hampshire  settlers,  and  they  fretted  and  chafed  under 
the  law.10  Conflicts  between  surveyor  and  squatter  n 
were  bound  to  come  out  of  such  a  state  of  affairs.  At 
Exeter,  the  surveyor  having  arrived  to  seize  some 
logs  suitable  for  masts,  was  set  upon  by  a  party  dis- 
guised as  Indians  and  warmly  flogged.12 

In  the  legislation  of  the  time  all  white  pines  were 
accounted  as  the  property  of  the  King,  but  provision 
was  made  whereby  all  towns  granted  before  Septem- 
ber 21,  1722,  should  be  exempted  from  this  restric- 
tion.13 Naturally  disputes  arose  as  to  the  boundaries 
of  different  towns  and  also  a  dispute  between  Massa- 
chusetts and  New  Hampshire.  This  latter  dispute, 
contrary  to  the  terms  of  the  charters,  was  decided  by 
the  King  himself.  He  generously  gave  the  decision  in 
favor  of  the  Granite  State,14  as  might  naturally  have 
been  expected,  since  his  economic  interest  was  at  stake. 
It  is  a  fact  that  by  this  "just  and  non-partisan"  deci- 
sion, the  best  mast  trees  in  the  world  were  assigned 
to  New  Hampshire,  which  was  subject  to  the  mast-tree 
law.  Had  the  "impartial"  decision  been  rendered  in 
favor  of  Massachusetts,  these  beautiful  trees  would 

"Weeden:  Econ.   and  Social    Hist,  of  New   England,   vol.   II,   783. 

11  Coman :  Industrial  Hist,  of  U.  S.,  105. 

"Fox  and  Osgood:  The  New  Hampshire  Book,  249. 

"Belknap:  Hist,  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  Ill,  81. 

"Fox  and  Osgood:  The  New  Hampshire  Book,  349. 


2o6  Passaconaway 

have  been  the  property  of  the  different  townships. 

Let  us  now  see  how  one  of  these  long,  straight  trees 
was  felled.  A  mast  tree  would  have  no  limbs  within 
eighty  or  more  feet  of  the  ground  and  would  be  in 
danger  of  splitting  when  it  fell.  Therefore,  a  bed 
or  cradle  was  carefully  prepared  to  receive  it.  The 
snow  helped  also,  being  so  deep  in  winter  that  it  not 
only  covered  all  the  rocks  and  boulders,  but  presented 
a  soft  bed  for  the  tree  to  fall  upon.  Hence  most  of 
the  masts  were  cut  and  sledded  out  in  winter.  But 
in  other  seasons,  when  the  ground  was  bare  and  stony, 
the  lumbermen  would  cut  down  scores  of  small  trees, 
and  so  pile  them  that,  when  the  giant  mast  crashed 
down,  it  would  nestle  among  the  upright  branches  of 
the  smaller  trees.  Thus  the  great  tree  was  safely 
brought  to  earth.  The  prostrate  log  was  then  cut 
off  in  the  proportion  of  a  yard  in  length  for  every 
inch  of  diameter.  Since  each  mast  was  at  least  twenty- 
four  inches  in  diameter,  it  must  be  at  least  twenty-four 
yards,  or  seventy-two  feet,  long.  If  the  slightest  de- 
fect was  found,  the  log  might  be  cut  shorter  for  yards 
or  bow-sprits.  If  it  proved  to  be  unsound,  it  was  either 
left  or  sawed  up  into  logs.15 

The  transportation  of  these  logs  was  a  Herculean 
task  for  the  engineers  of  those  days.  All  the  men  for 
miles  around  were  summoned  and  great  crowds  gath- 
ered to  see  the  feat.  The  mast  was  rigged  upon  two 
pairs  of  wheels;  sixteen  and  sometimes  even  forty  yoke 
of  oxen  were  chained  in  front;  on  each  side,  between 
the  fore  and  hind  wheels,  two  additional  yoke  tugged 

"Belknap:  Hist,  of  New  Hampshire,  vol.  Ill,  78. 


The  Old  Mast  Road  207 

and  strained.     In  this  fashion  the  forty   (or  eighty-  ^ 
eight)   animals,  under  the  guidance  of  noted  drivers,  j 
pulled  and  strained  as  one  machine,  the  huge  mast  was 
put  in  motion  and  was  slowly  but  surely  dragged  to   • 
the  coast.     Most  of  our  New  Hampshire  masts  were 
shipped  from  Portsmouth,  which  was  the  center  of 
this  romantic  trade.16 

Concerning  the  value  of  these  huge  sticks,  consid- 
ered by  Europeans  to  be  "the  best  in  the  world,"  we 
find  that  some  New  England  masts,  in  1644,  were 
sold  to  the  Royal  Navy  for  from  ninety-five  to  one 
hundred  and  fifteen  pounds  per  mast.  These  masts 
measured  from  thirty-three  to  thirty-five  inches  in 
diameter  at  the  butt.  A  premium  of  one  pound  per 
ton  was  usually  paid  on  masts  by  the  Royal  Navy.17 

So  extensive  was  this  trade  that  an  entire  fleet  was 
constructed  in  the  Colonies  for  the  purpose  of  carry- 
ing the  great  sticks  to  England.  These  ships  carried 
about  a  half  hundred  masts  each,  and  were  manned 
by  crews  averaging  twenty-five  men.  The  mast-ships 
plowed  the  seas  until  the  breaking  out  of  the  Revo- 
lution in  I775-18 

When,  in  1727,  Colonel  Westbrook,  then  the  royal    :' 
agent,  transferred  the  center  of  this  trade  from  Ports- 
mouth to  Falmouth   (now  Portland),  Maine,  he  ef- 
fected a  marked  change  in  the  industry.19     Although 


18Weeden:  vol.  I,  356-7. 

"Weeden:  vol.  I,  243,  vol.  II,   578.     Comp.  also  Belknap:  N.  H., 
vol.  Ill,  80,  note. 
"Weeden:  vol.  II,  578. 
"  Same. 


208  Passaconaway 

Falmouth's  commercial  importance  was  thus  suddenly 
increased,  Portsmouth's  prosperity  was  struck  an  al- 
most fatal  blow.  However,  from  the  new  center,  the 
trade  lasted  less  than  a  half  century.  The  Revolution 
completely  stamped  out  this  greatest  of  all  colonial 
activities.20  Since  the  United  States  became  a  nation 
these  trees,  like  all  others,  have  become  the  property 
of  private  landowners.  Although  the  mast  trade  had 
grown  up  with  miraculous  rapidity,  yet,  once  destroyed, 
it  has  never  been  revived. 

Nathaniel  Berry,  of  Birch  Intervale,  tells  of  masts 
and  spars  being  hauled  out  from  the  southern  slopes 
of  the  Sandwich  Range.21  The  older  settlers  of  our 
Albany  Intervale  recall  hearing  their  ancestors  tell  of 
the  days  when  the  King's  Broad  Arrow  was  blazed 
upon  the  big  trees  in  this  region.  I  have  no  proof  that 
masts  for  the  Royal  Navy  ever  were  hauled  out  over 
our  end  of  the  Old  Mast  Road,  though  probably  they 
were  dragged  down  the  southern  sides  of  the  same 
hills.  The  town  road  was  not  built  in  the  Albany 
Intervale  until  long  after  the  Revolution.  Unless  the 
logs  were  run  down  the  Swift  River  on  the  spring 
freshets,  there  would  seem  to  have  been  no  way  of 
getting  them  out  of  our  valley  in  colonial  days.  But 
we  do  know  of  huge  masts  being  cut  here  in  later  times. 
Mr.  Shackford  used  to  tell  us  about  a  mast  no  feet 
long,  and  2  feet  in  diameter  at  the  small  end,  which 
was  hauled  out  of  our  valley  in  his  day.  And  we 

*°Weeden:  Econ.  and  Social  Hist,  of  New  England,  vol.  I,  243. 
"Bollcs:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  44. 


The  Old  Mast  Road  209 

have  other  reliable  testimony  to  mast  cutting  in  our 
quiet  intervale. 

With  the  "Old  Mast  Road"  beginning,  or  com- 
ing to  an  end,  on  the  lot  of  land  on  which  our  little 
cottage  now  stands,  we  shall  not  soon  allow  to  slip 
from  memory  the  famous  and  once  all-important 
"mast  trade."  The  "Old  Mast  Road"  more  than 
once  has  been  choked  with  the  debris  of  ax  and  hur- 
ricane and  fire.  The  Wonalancet  Out-Door  Club  has 
done  not  a  little  to  keep  the  trail  open.  Although 
just  now  the  historic  old  path  here  and  there  loses 
itself  in  brushwood  left  by  the  lumbermen,  it  is  only 
a  question  of  time  when  "an  highway  shall  be  there, 
and  a  way"  22  perhaps  for  the  untiring  "benzine 
buggy"  of  the  summer  tourist. 

"Isaiah  35:8. 


CHAPTER  XIII 
ALBANY    (PASSACONAWAY)    INTERVALE,    PAST    AND 

PRESENT 

ON  November  6,  1766,  through  the  efforts  of 
Governor  Banning  Wentworth,  a  charter  was 
obtained  from  the  Crown  for  the  laying  out  of  a 
township  in  the  bleak,  yet  beautiful,  Swift  River  Val- 
ley and  the  lands  south  and  east  of  it.1  The  grantees 
were  Clement  March,  Joseph  Senter  and  fifty-nine 
others.2  This  charter  from  George  III  stipulated  that 
not  only  should  a  lot  of  several  hundred  acres  be 
reserved  for  the  governor,  known  as  the  Governor's 
Right,  a  lot  for  church  and  school  privileges,  but  that 
also  no  large  pines  should  be  cut  if  marked  with  the 
broad  arrow.  As  a  tax,  each  grantee  was  to  give  the 
king  one  ear  of  corn  a  year.3  However,  this  last  con- 
dition never  applied  to  the  Swift  River  Intervale;  for, 
at  the  time  the  charter  was  granted,  only  wild  beasts 
and  Indians  inhabited  the  valley,  and  white  men  prob- 
ably never  harvested  an  ear  of  corn  here  until  after 
American  Independence  was  declared.4  Sometimes  a 
white  man  would  extend  his  hunting-trip  and  go  far 

'Belknap:   Hist  of  N.   H.,  vol.  Ill,   241. 
*See  list  in  Merrill:  Hist  of  Carroll  Co.,  782. 
"Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 
4  Same. 

210 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          211 

up  into  the  wilderness  in  the  "Great  Valley,"  where 
otter,  beaver,  and  other  valuable  fur-bearing  animals 
were  plentiful,5  and  in  this  manner  what  is  now  the 
beautiful  Passaconaway  Intervale  came  to  be  known, 
and  ultimately  was  opened  up  and  settled.6 

Near  the  northeast  base  of  Chocorua  a  settlement 
very  early  began  to  be  made,  which  later  was  called 
Burton.  It  was  while  this  little  cluster  of  cabins  was 
springing  up  that  the  death  of  Chocorua  at  the  hands 
of  Cornelius  Campbell  (who  lived  within  the  limits 
of  what  later  was  the  town  of  Burton)  took  place.7 
According  to  the  well-known  tradition,  the  chieftain, 
just  before  his  death,  cursed  the  whites,  praying  that 
their  crops  might  be  blasted  and  that  disease  might 
waste  their  people  and  cattle.  The  cattle  did  indeed 
sicken  and  die,  it  being  impossible  to  raise  a  calf.8  And 
even  robust  men  seemed  to  waste  away.  There  was 
something  wrong,  something  that  could  not  be  ac- 
counted for.  Quickly  the  superstitious  fear  that  the 
Indian's  curse  was  in  effect  crept  over  the  minds  of 
these  hardy  frontiersmen.  With  such  a  handicap  Bur- 
ton did  not  grow  as  fast  as  the  surrounding  towns.9 

The  proprietors  perceived  the  need  of  surveying  and 
establishing  well-defined  boundaries.  This  project 

5  Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  Hist,  277;  Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll 
Co.,  783;  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  89. 

"Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 

1  Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  History  and  Description  of  New  England, 
New  Hampshire  vol.,  406,  note. 

8  Coolidge  and  Mansfield :  Hist,  and  Description  of  New  Eng.,  New 
Hampshire  vol.,  285. 

"The  same  and  Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  89. 


212  Passaconaway 

was  approved,  and  so  carefully  was  the  work  done  that 
the  town  was  forced  to  surrender  to  an  adjoining  town 
several  acres  which  clearly  did  not  belong  to  Burton. 
Yet  the  surveyors  succeeded  in  annexing  to  Burton  a 
large  amount  of  ungranted  lands  which  more  than 
compensated  for  the  loss  of  a  few  acres.  The  divi- 
sion of  the  land  into  lots  was  the  next  step.  At  length, 
after  many  difficulties,  it  was  voted  at  a  proprietors' 
meeting  that,  after  marking  off  the  Governor's  Right 
lot,  the  Minister  lot,  and  a  lot  for  school  privileges, 
the  right  should  be  given  to  every  settler  to  pitch  and 
stake  off  his  own  bounds.  In  1798  a  lot  of  ten  thou- 
sand acres  was  sold.  The  settlers  finished  their  task 
of  parceling  out  the  land  in  1804.  One  man  was  ap- 
pointed by  the  proprietors  to  make  a  plan  or  map 
of  the  township,  with  numbers  of  lots  and  names  of 
owners,  and  this  was  done.  This  map  has  been  the 
foundation  of  all  later  plans  down  to  the  present.10 

According  to  the  terms  of  the  original  grant,  the 
boundaries  of  the  new  town  were  as  follows: — "Be- 
ginning at  the  middle  of  the  west  side  line  of  Con- 
way  and  from  thence  to  run  west  until  the  line  so 
run  west  shall  intersect  a  line  run  north  from  the 
northeasterly  corner  of  an  additional  grant  to  the 
township  of  Sandwich,  thence  by  sd  last  mentioned 
line  to  the  addition  of  Sandwich  afores'd  and  thence 
on  to  Tamworth,  thence  easterly  by  Tamworth  to  the 
northeast  corner  thereof,  thence  a  strait  line  by  the 
township  of  Eaton  to  the  northwesterly  corner  of  a 
tract  of  land  granted  to  officers  late  in  His  Majesty's 

"Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          213 

service,  thence  by  said  officers'  lands  to  the  southwest- 
erly corner  of  Conway  to  the  bounds  first  men- 
tioned." n  The  present  town  of  Albany  (originally 
Burton)  is  bounded  thus:  On  the  north,  by  Livermore, 
Bartlett  and  Hale's  Location;  on  the  east,  by  Conway 
and  Madison;  on  the  south,  by  Madison  and  Tarn- 
worth  ;  on  the  west,  by  Sandwich,  Waterville  and  Liver- 
more.12  Its  area  is  36,700  acres.13 

None  but  hardy  laborers  would  brave  the  difficul- 
ties of  settling  in  such  a  desolate  and  distant  place, 
in  the  very  heart  of  a  vast  wilderness.  Let  me  nar- 
rate an  instance,  recorded  in  an  old  manuscript,  which 
shows  the  patience,  perseverance,  ingenuity  and  endur- 
ing courage  of  these  settlers.  A  farmer,  having 
cleared  a  lot  and  built  a  house,  brought  his  family  to 
Burton,  and  then  prepared  his  field  for  planting.  But 
he  had  no  seed.  So  he  saddled  his  horse  (the  only 
means  of  conveyance,  there  being  no  wagon-roads)  and 
canvassed  the  houses  of  the  adjoining  towns  in  the 
hope  of  buying  a  bushel  of  seedling  potatoes.  Not  a 
bushel  was  for  sale,  however,  so  he  returned  home,  but 
determined  to  try  again.  Next  morning,  throwing  his 
saddle-bags  upon  his  horse,  he  went  again  from  house 
to  house  begging  a  single  potato  from  each.  Those 
who  would  not  sell  a  bushel  were  willing  to  give  one 
potato  and,  in  some  cases,  more.  For  three  days  he 
kept  up  these  tactics,  riding  home  at  dusk  each  night, 
until  he  was  supplied.  This  man  remained  in  Burton 

"Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  782. 
"  See  U.  S.  maps. 
"Merrill,  782. 


214  Passaconaway 

and  brought  up  a  large  family  of  children,  all  of  whom 
are  prosperous  and  respectable.14 

Of  course  the  distance  from  seaport  towns  made  it 
very  difficult  to  secure  certain  necessary  articles  which 
could  not  be  found  in  the  field  or  forest,  such  as  iron, 
salt  and  lead.  These  all  had  to  be  brought  by  man 
or  horse.  A  man  would  carry  a  bushel  of  corn  on 
his  shoulder  ten  miles  to  the  mill  and  carry  back  the 
meal  the  same  way,  considering  himself  fortunate  to 
be  able  to  secure  meal  on  any  terms.  Many  and  many 
a  time  the  community  was  forced  to  send  deputations 
as  far  as  sixty  miles  to  buy  grain.  Once,  when  a  scarc- 
ity of  salt  was  producing  sickness,  a  certain  man  went 
eighty  miles  on  foot,  bought  a  bushel  of  that  com- 
modity, and  returned  with  it  on  his  shoulder.15  Just 
as  these  energetic  frontiersmen,  by  their  unremitting 
toil,  seemed  to  be  accumulating  and  getting  ahead  a 
little,  bears,  wolves,  and  other  wild  animals  would 
steal  their  pigs  or  calves  and  do  other  damage.  "Meal 
and  water  and  dried  fish  without  salt  was  often  their 
diet  for  days  when  game  was  shy  or  storms  prevented 
hunting."  16 

A  century  ago,  wages  were  extremely  low.  Meas- 
ured by  modern  charges  they  seem  absurdly  small.  I 
think  that  we  shall  the  better  appreciate  the  indus- 
try of  the  hard-working  settlers  of  this  time  if  their 
(incomes  are  recorded.  "Women's  labor  was  fifty  cents 
per  week.  They  spun  and  wove  most  of  the  cloth  that 

14  R.  and  C.  MS. 

"  Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  53. 

"The  same. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          215 

was  worn.     Flannel  that  was  dressed  at  the  mill,  for 
women's  wear,  was  fifty  cents  a  yard;  men's  wear,  one   \ 
dollar.     Farmers  hired  their  help  for  nine  or  ten  dol-   ( 
lars  a  month — some  clothing  and  the  rest  cash.     Car-   ' 
penters'  wages  one  dollar  a  day;  journeymen  carpen- 
ters, fifteen  dollars  a  month;  and  apprentices  to  serve 
six  or  seven  years  had  ten  dollars  the  first  year,  twenty 
the  second,  and  so  on  until  the  seventh,  receiving  sev- 
enty dollars,  and  to  clothe  themselves."  17 

But  who  were  some  of  these  pioneers?  According 
to  the  proprietors'  records,  which  commence  in  1780, 
the  first  "pitches"  were  made  by  Henry  Weed  for 
Joshua  Weed,  Isaac  George,  Orlando  Weed,  Ezekiel 
Oilman,  William  Page,  and  Aaron  Beede;  all  in  the 
southern  part  of  the  town.18 

Colonel  Jeremiah  Oilman,  commander  of  the  sec- 
ond regiment  raised  in  the  Granite  State  for  the  Revo- 
lution, settled  here  in  1780.  A  fine  specimen  of  in- 
dustry and  perseverance  was  the  Colonel.  He  built 
the  first  "power"  spinning-mill  in  the  United  States. 
At  the  time  of  his  invention  the  Saco  Valley  was  pro- 
ducing large  quantities  of  flax  which  was  spun  and 
woven  in  the  individual  homes,  the  finished  cloth  be- 
ing borne  on  horseback  to  Dover,  Portsmouth,  or  Port- 
land, where  it  was  bartered  for  flour,  rum,  etc.19 

Orlando  Weed  was  another  sterling  and  energetic 
settler  in  the  lower  part  of  the  town.  Discovering  iron 
ore,  he  immediately  erected  a  rude  smithy,  where  he 

"Merrill:  Hiit.  of  Carroll  County,  53. 
"The  same,  783. 
"The  same,  784. 


216  Passaconaway 

forged  first  his  own  tools  and  an  anvil.  He  made 
a  coarse  steel  for  trap  springs.  Later  he  forged  an- 
chors, large  and  small;  and  upon  a  rigging  of  his 
own  contrivance,  consisting  of  two  poles,  he  dragged 
his  anchors  to  Portsmouth  where  he  sold  them.  Be- 
sides being  a  very  hard-working  man,  he  was  gener- 
ous and  public-spirited.  In  1796,  he  represented 
Eaton,  Tamworth,  and  Burton  at  Concord.20 

In  1785  a  petition  was  sent  to  the  legislature  pray- 
ing for  authority  to  call  the  first  legal  town  meeting. 
Four  years  later,  the  following  petition  for  the  ap- 
pointment of  a  Justice  of  the  Peace  was  submitted: 
"Burton  April  1789,  recommending  Benjamin  Weeks 
for  justice  of  the  peace  for  the  town.  Orlando  Weed, 
Benjamin  Meed,  Levi  Runjllet^  Orlando  Weed,  Jr., 
Daniel  Head,  Ambros  Hinds,  Nathaniel  Head,  Na- 
thaniel Hayford,  Elisher  Weed,  Ezekiel  Oilman,  The- 
ophelus  Brown,  Caleb  Brown,  Isaac  George,  Jeremiah 
Oilman,  Joseph  Crosbe."  21 

The  disease  from  which  Burton  cattle  suffered  and 
which  was  laid  to  Chocorua's  curse,  proved  to  be 
not  imaginary  but  real.  So  serious  was  it  that,  in  1821, 
Professor  Dana,  of  Dartmouth  College,  was  sent  by 
the  state  to  the  afflicted  town  to  find  out  if  possible  the 
nature  of  "the  Burton  Ail."  22  He  found  the  cause  to 
lie  in  the  water,  which  contained  a  weak  solution  of 
muriate  of  lime.  A  remedy  was  discovered  near  at 

"Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  52. 
"The  same. 

a  Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  Hist,  and  Description  of  New  England, 
New  Hampshire  vol.,  285 ;  R.  and  C.  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          217 

hand,  however.  It  was  found  that  a  certain  kind  of 
meadow  mud,  when  administered  in  large  pills  to  the 
cattle,  counteracted  the  disease.  Soap-suds  acted  simi- 
larly.23 The  town  had  gained  an  evil  reputation  on 
account  of  "the  Burton  Ail,"  but  with  the  discovery 
of  a  remedy,  its  population  and  business  were  stimu- 
lated somewhat.24 

In  the  earlier  days  of  the  town,  warrants  were  sent 
out  for  "May  training,"  according  to  that  ancient  New 
England  custom.  All  the  men  of  military  age  were 
assembled  and  officers  chosen.  On  one  occasion,  when 
the  men  proceeded  to  form  company,  it  was  found  that 
there  was  only  one  man,  Farnham  by  name,  who 
ranked  as  private,  all  the  rest  having  been  chosen  offi- 
cers. "Looking  wistfully  upon  his  superiors,  standing 
in  terrible  array  before  him,  he  said,  'Gentlemen,  I 
have  only  one  request  to  make ;  that  is,  as  I  am  the 
only  soldier,  I  hope  your  honors  will  not  be  too  severe 
in  drilling  me,  but  spare  me  a  little  as  I  may  be  needed 
another  time.'  He  could  form  a  solid  column,  he  said, 
'but  it  racked  him  shockingly  to  display.'  "  25 

This  "May  training"  affair  recalls  an  unhappy  inci- 
dent. A  young  Mr.  Allard  lost  a  hand  by  the  bursting 
of  a  gun  at  one  of  these  musters.26  He  was  a  genuine 
pioneer  and  fearless  hunter.  In  his  old  age  he  used 
to  delight  the  younger  generation  with  his  quaint 

^Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  Hist.  276. 

14  Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  Hist,  and  Description  of  New  England, 
New  Hampshire  rol.,  285. 

KWilley:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  History,  277-8. 
*R.  and  C.  MS. 


218  Passaconaway 

stories  of  exciting  experiences.  Upon  the  authority 
of  a  veracious  old  settler  of  Burton,  who  used  to  sit 
for  hours  and  listen  to  his  droll  stories,  I  will  relate 
this  one,  told  in  the  old  man's  own  words:  "When  I 
was  about  seventeen  years  old,  brother  Jim"  (his  twin 
brother)  "and  I  set  a  trap  to  catch  a  bear.  We  went 
early  one  morning  and  there  was  a  big  black  bear  in 
the  trap.  Fearing  he  would  get  away  I  grabbed  him 
and  told  Jim  to  run  back  to  the  house  for  an  ax  to 
kill  him  with.  When  he  got  there  breakfast  was  all 
ready,  so  he  stopped  and  ate  breakfast.  When  he 
came  back  I  said,  'Well,  well,'  "  (an  expression  often 
used  by  the  early  settlers)  "  'now  you  hold  him  and  let 
me  kill  him.'  So  Jim  took  a  firm  grip  on  the  bear  that 
he  might  be  sure  and  hold  him.  'Well,  well,  now  I  will 
go  and  eat  my  breakfast!'  So  when  I  came  back  we 
killed  the  bear."  27 

Another  member  of  this  same  family,  and  equally 
interesting,  was  Stej^jsn_Allajrd,  known  as  "Old  Uncle 
Steve  Allard."  "Steve"  was  an  early  pioneer  here, 
and  resided  in  Albany  until  his  death,  September  4, 
1869,  at  ninety-nine  years  of  age.  "He  was  a  kind, 
peaceful  citizen,  and  waged  war  only  against  wild 
beasts  that  infested  the  neighborhood,  and  being  an 
athletic  man,  he  usually  came  out  victorious.  Mr. 
Allard  could  entertain  one  for  hours  with  stories. 
He  was  a  man  of  iron  constitution,  and,  when  about 
ninety-five  years  old,  slipped  away  from  his  family 
and  walked  six  miles,  over  poorly  kept  roads,  with 
snow  three  feet  deep,  to  see  an  old  gentleman,  an 

27  R.  and  C.  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          219 

•arly  settler  of  Conway."  28 

One  intensely  dark  night  "Steve"  Allard  was  as- 
cending a  small  hill,  which  is  about  two  miles  from 
Conway,  on  the  Eaton  road,  and  which  rises  abruptly 
from  a  pond.  With  bowed  head  he  was  toiling  up 
the  incline,  when  suddenly  he  was  none  too  gently  em- 
braced by  a  big  black  bear  which,  standing  upon  its 
haunches,  with  outstretched  forelegs,  had  lovingly  re- 
ceived the  man  into  his  clasp.  Instinctively  Steve  knew 
what  kind  of  an  antagonist  he  was  grappling  with,  and, 
putting  forth  almost  superhuman  strength,  wrestled 
with  "the  bear  that  walks  like  a  man."  29  The  brute 
hugged  and  tugged,  the  man  pushed  and  wriggled.  At 
length  he  tripped  up  the  bear  and  threw  him.  Down 
went  bear  and  man  together.  Over  and  over  they 
rolled;  first  the  bear  was  underneath  and  then  the  man. 
Clutching  each  other  like  long-lost  friends  they  rolled 
down  the  hill  and  — "Splash!" — they  plunged  into  the 
pond.  This  seemed  to  dampen  the  spirits  of  the  ursine 
wrestler,  for  he  relaxed  his  hold,  crawled  out  of  the 
pond,  and,  having  no  inclination  to  renew  the  encounter, 
without  even  a  last  look  at  his  foe  made  off  through 
the  woods.30 

With  this  brief  history  of  the  lower  part  of  the  town, 
now  known  as  South  Albany,  let  us  now  consider  those 
adventurous  pioneers  who  went  eight  or  ten  miles 
farther  into  the  wilderness  to  settle  the  "Great  Val- 

28 Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  784. 
*  Kipling:  The  Truce  of  the  Bear. 

""Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  History,  1X1-2;  see  Allard's  Hill 
in  Osgood :  White  Mts.,  93. 


220  Passaconaway 

ley."  Some  time  in  the  eighteenth  century  two  men, 
from  Conway,  traveling  westward,  followed  up  a  swift- 
running  stream,  as  they  described  it.  Having  gone  a 
dozen  miles,  they  came  into  a  wide  and  beautiful  val- 
ley which  they  called  the  "Great  Valley" — now  the 
Passaconaway  Intervale.31  Being  on  friendly  terms 
with  the  Indians,  one  of  these  hunters,  having  set  a  trap 
for  a  wolf,  was  sorry  to  find  in  the  trap  one  morning 
what  he  thought  was  an  Indian's  dog.  Upon  releas- 
ing the  animal,  however,  he  saw  that  it  was  a  real  wolf 
which  he  had  liberated.32  By  hunters  this  valley  came 
to  be  looked  upon  as  a  paradise.33  The  Indians  fre- 
quented and  even  lived  in  it,  in  spite  of  their  fear  of 
the  mountains.  Beaver  were  abundant,  and  long  after 
the  valley  had  become  permanently  settled  and  the  In- 
dians had  disappeared,  trappers  would  come  up  from 
Conway  to  catch  these  valuable  little  creatures.34 

In  time  it  was  proposed  to  run  a  road  through  to 
the  settlement  now  known  as  Waterville.  This  was 
approved  by  the  proprietors,  and  laborers  were  set 
to  work  cutting  trees  and  leaving  landmarks.  One 
Saturday  night,  tired  and  discouraged,  they  reached 
a  spot  near  a  brook.  With  a  cold  winter  fast  ap- 
proaching, these  workmen,  far  from  their  farms,  next 
morning  concluded  to  hide  their  tools  and  return  home. 
It  was  their  intention  to  resume  the  work  next  year. 
Before  leaving,  they  named  this  brook  the  "Sabbaday 

31  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 

"  Same. 

"Willey:  Incidents  in  White  Mt.  History,  277. 

**  R.  and  C.  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          221 

Brook,"  because  it  was  on  the  Sabbath  Day,  or  "Sab- 
baday"  as  the  old-timers  called  it,  that  they  ceased 
their  labors  and  returned  to  their  homes.  But  the 
tools  rotted  and  rusted,  for  neither  these  workmen  nor 
others,  thus  far,  ever  have  completed  a  highway  from 
Albany  Intervale  to  Waterville.35 

The  proprietors  of  the  town  of  Burton,  in  1790, 
voted  a  lot  of  land,  with  mill  privileges,  to  any  man 
who  would  build  a  saw-mill  in  this  intervale.  At 
length  a  Mr.  Weed  came  in  from  South  Burton  and 
erected  a  mill.  After  a  few  boards  had  been  sawed, 
however,  Weed  tired  of  the  occupation,  and,  leaving 
the  mill  to  rot  down,  he  left  the  valley.  Some  other 
settlers  came  in  about  this  time — perhaps  to  help  build 
the  mill — settling  in  three  or  four  places,  but  their  cour- 
age was  short-lived,  for  they  soon  quit.36 

Shortly  after  1790,  two  Weeks  brothers  "pitched" 
north  of  the  river,  clearing  land  on  Lots  8  and  9, 
Range  4  (on  the  survey  made  after  their  departure), 
the  present  Annis  Farm.  Also  the  Knox  brothers  set- 
tled on  what  later  became  the  Burbank  and  Shackford 
farms;  and  another  "pitch"  was  made  on  Lots  11  and 
12,  Range  4,  which  was  taken  up  and  left  for  others.37 

November  27,  1800,  Burton  was  taken  from  Graf- 
ton  County  and  annexed  to  Carroll  County.38 

During  the  year  1800,  Austin  George,  with  a  large 
family  (fourteen  children)  drove  up  from  Conway  and 

85  R.  and  C.  MS. 

"The  same. 

37  The  same. 

"Rollins:  Tourists'  Guide  to  New  Hampshire,  99. 


222  Passaconaway 

built  a  large  barn,  of  hewed  and  split  white  pine  from 
top  to  bottom.  No  labor  was  wasted,  for  the  timber 
grew  upon  the  very  ground  which  the  settler  wished 
to  clear.  The  men  chose  rift  trees,  split  the  boards, 
shingles  and  planks  and  smoothed  them  with  an  adze. 
A  log-house  was  built  and  finished  in  the  same  way. 
One  or  two  neighbors  came  with  this  family,  but  made 
no  preparations  for  permanent  settlement,  and,  after 
two  or  three  years,  went  back  to  Conway.  Mr. 
George's  oldest  son  brought  his  bride  from  Conway  to 
live  with  the  family.39  Doubtless  owing  to  the  hard- 
ship of  pioneer  life,  sickness  came  to  the  family.  A 
daughter,  nineteen  years  of  age,  died  of  consumption. 
The  nearest  neighbors  were  ten  miles  way.  The  poor 
mother  was  forced  to  make  all  the  funeral  prepara- 
tions with  her  own  hands.  Friends  arrived  later  and 
the  customary  burial  rites  were  observed.  The  father, 
Austin  George,  was  a  scholar  and  a  great  reader.  He 
taught  his  children  geography,  grammar,  arithmetic 
and  history,  and  in  later  years  some  of  these  frontier 
children  became  among  the  best  school  teachers  in  the 
country.40 

So  cold  was  the  climate  that  corn  and  wheat  were 
out  of  the  question;  in  fact,  the  only  vegetables  they 
could  raise  were  those  which  frost  could  not  kill,  such 
as  cabbages,  turnips,  onions,  and  potatoes.  Although 
the  soil  is  unusually  fertile  and  free  from  stones,  so 
very  short  is  the  season  between  frosts  (for  ice  often 
forms  here  in  July  and  August)  that  only  the  fast- 

"R.  and  C.  MS. 

49  The  same. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          223 

growing  vegetables  and  those  that  can  survive  the 
frosts  can  be  relied  upon.  The  girls  and  boys  reaped 
abundant  crops  of  hay,  while  the  father  cultivated  the 
garden.  The  mother,  by  hand,  wove  the  clothes  for 
the  numerous  members.  The  entire  family  had  to  turn 
to  and  toil  from  daylight  to  dark  in  order  to  eke  out 
their  meagre  existence.  There  were  no  drones  in 
these  early  families.41 

Times  grew  harder  and  harder  in  the  George  home. 
The  cattle  died  of  the  "Burton  ail,"  no  remedy  at  this 
time  being  known.  A  hurricane  swept  through  the  very 
center  of  the  valley,  tearing  up  trees  by  the  roots. 
Everything  in  its  path,  which  was  a  half  mile  in  width, 
was  laid  level  with  the  ground.  The  hurricane  crossed 
the  valley  from  northwest  to  southeast.  In  1814,  the 
family  decided  to  abandon  the  place.  Two  sons  had 
left  and  enlisted  in  the  war  against  England,  one  of 
whom  was  killed  at  the  Battle  of  Bridgewater  in  July, 
i8i4-42  In  October  of  the  same  year,  the  oldest  son 
moved  his  family  away.  The  now  aged  father  decided 
to  stay  long  enough  to  feed  his  stock  the  supply  of 
hay  on  hand,  while  his  family  lived  on  the  produce  they 
had  raised,  as  it  was  impossible  to  move  these  sup- 
plies through  the  forest  and  Mr.  George  had  nothing 
with  which  to  buy  more.  Until  March,  1815,  he  re- 
mained, when,  taking  his  family,  which  now  consisted 
of  a  wife,  three  sons  and  three  daughters,  he  moved 
to  Bartlett.  Mr.  George  felt  very  sad  over  abandon- 
ing his  home  in  the  intervale,  and,  although  he  lived 

ttR.  and  CMS. 
°The  same. 


224  Passaconaivay 

twenty-four  years  longer,  he  never  could  bring  him- 
self to  visit  the  spot  again  and  see  the  abandoned  home. 
Thus  Mr.  George  derived  no  benefit  from  the  years 
of  toil  and  hardship  which  he  had  put  in  here.43  For 
ten  years  the  old  George  homestead  was  left  to  tran- 
sient hunters,  trappers  and  perhaps  bandits.  Yet  its 
occupancy  by  the  Georges  had  proved  that,  despite 
Chocorua's  curse  and  the  rigorous  climate,  human  be- 
ings could  exist  here. 

In  March,  1824,  nine  years  after  Mr.  George  had 
left,  Mr.  Amzi  Russell,  who  had  married  the  grand- 
daughter of  Austin  George,  moved  into  the  old  house, 
and  the  settlement  was  begun  in  earnest;  and  never 
afterwards,  up  to  the  present,  although  time  and  again 
sorely  tested,  has  it  been  entirely  abandoned.  The 
building  was  in  a  very  dilapidated  condition,  having 
been  used  by  rough  men  from  time  to  time.  The  beau- 
tiful white-pine  finishing  had  been  ripped  off  by  these 
vandals,  who  used  the  wood  as  fuel  with  which  to 
cook  their  venison  and  keep  themselves  warm.  The 
Russells  had  every  reason  to  believe  that  the  house  had 
been  used  as  a  meeting-place  by  men  who  came  from 
different  parts  of  the  country  and  who  seemed  well 
acquainted  with  the  place.  Evidently  it  had  been  a 
rendezvous  for  brigands  who  met  here  by  agreement 
to  divide  their  plunder  or  bury  their  treasure.  A  horse 
was  discovered  in  the  month  of  March  by  some  of 
the  Russells  who  were  hunting.  The  family  worked 
industriously  on  their  farm  and  existed  on  what 
"garden  truck"  they  could  raise,  which  fare  was  sup- 

43  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          225 

plemented  by  a  plentiful  supply  of  game.  In  1833  the 
Russell  brothers  built  a  mill  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
intervale.  Here  they  sawed  lumber  for  the  valley 
and  made  trips  to  Portland  to  haul  lumber  to  mar- 
ket. At  Portland  they  could  procure  supplies  for  their 
families.  On  these  trips  they  would  also  bring  back 
goods  for  the  traders  at  Conway,  and  this  helped  to 
pay  expenses.  They  managed  to  subsist  by  such  ac- 
tivities and  by  farming.  Happily  and  contentedly  they 
lived,  and  made  what  improvements  they  could  in  addi- 
tion to  their  regular  tasks.44 

Austin  George  had  fourteen  children,  the  first  three 
of  whom  are  buried  in  the  Russell  Cemetery  in  the 
Albany  Intervale.  Daniel  George,  a  son  of  the  pio- 
neer, had  a  daughter,  Eliza  Morse  George,  who  mar- 
ried Amzi  Russell,  son  of  Thomas  Russell.  Mrs.  Rus- 
sell lived  to  be  over  ninety  years  old.  She  kept  a  manu- 
script from  which  were  taken  not  a  few  of  the  facts 
here  recorded.  The  children  of  Amzi  and  Eliza  Morse 
(George)  Russell  were  Martha  George  Russell,  who 
married  Celon  Russell  Swett;  Thirza  Russell,  who  mar- 
ried Andrew  J.  Lord;  Mary  Russell,  who  died  young; 
Ruth  Priscilla  Russell,  who  married  Thomas  Alden 
Colbath  and  lives  in  the  historic  old  George  homestead, 
and  who  for  many  years  was  Postmistress;  and  Flora 
Emma  Russell,  who  never  married.  To  Mrs.  Col- 
bath  the  present  writer  is  deeply  indebted  for  access 
to  the  Russell  Manuscript  and  for  letters  supplement- 
ing the  account  given  in  said  manuscript.  Mrs.  Col- 
bath,  as  her  acquaintances  can  testify,  is  a  woman  of 

^Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 


226  Passaconazvay 

superior  intellectual  ability  and  moral  excellence,  and 
scores  of  people,  in  many  states,  take  pride  in  calling 
her  their  friend. 

The  reason  for  writing  so  particularly  about  the 
George  family  is  that  not  only  have  very  reliable  rec- 
ords been  kept  of  the  hardships  endured,  which  hard- 
ships were  typical  of  those  necessarily  endured  by  all 
the  early  families,  but  because  Mr.  George's  long  stay 
laid  the  foundation  for  a  permanent  settlement  in  the 
Albany  Intervale. 

Meanwhile,  a  Mr.  Stinson  went  up  the  river  into 
the  township  of  Waterville,  where  at  considerable  ex- 
pense he  began  to  erect  a  large  saw-mill.  After  ex- 
pending much  money  and  labor  on  the  mill,  which  was 
approaching  completion,  he  left  laborers  to  continue 
the  work,  went  to  Boston,  and  died.  The  laborers 
faithfully  completed  the  mill,  put  it  in  running  order, 
and  proceeded  to  defray  the  expenses  incurred  by  put- 
ting it  up  for  sale.  It  was  sold  at  a  great  sacrifice 
shortly  after,  two  brothers  by  the  name  of  Morse 
being  the  purchasers.45 

The  Morse  brothers  sledded  pine  logs  to  the  mill 
during  the  winter;  in  the  spring  they  sawed  these  logs 
and  stuck  them  up  on  end  to  dry;  the  following  win- 
ter, as  soon  as  a  good  snow  fell,  they  hauled  their 
lumber  to  market.  For  years  the  work  was  carried 
on  in  this  slow,  inconvenient  way,  until  at  length  a  road 
was  constructed  suitable  for  wheeled  vehicles.  Such 
primitive  methods  reveal  the  difficulty  of  earning  a  liv- 
ing in  those  days.  All  the  lumber,  except  perhaps  a 

•'Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          227 

few  boards  used  in  the  neighborhood,  had  to  be  drawn 
to  Portland.  Until  the  lumber  could  be  sold  in  Port- 
land, the  settlers  were  obliged  to  depend  upon  their 
meagre  garden  for  supplies.46  But  the  farm  offered 
only  a  precarious  existence.  Mr.  George  and  his  in- 
dustrious family  had  done  all  in  their  power,  but  the 
valley  could  not  produce  a  living  for  them.  So  the 
Morse  brothers,  hard-working  and  determined  men, 
besides  caring  for  their  garden,  toiled  and  toiled  at 
their  lumber  business,  thereby  making  up  for  the  mea- 
greness  of  their  crops. 

At  daylight  these  conscientious  workers  would  go 
into  the  woods  and  not  return  until  dark.  Meanwhile, 
all  day  long,  their  families  cultivated  the  garden.  On 
returning  at  night,  the  brothers  would  feed  their  ani- 
mals and,  supper  eaten,  they  would  bring  their  shaving- 
horse  into  the  kitchen  and  shave  a  bunch  of  shingles 
before  bed-time.  On  Saturday  night,  however,  all 
work  was  laid  aside,  except  "the  care  of  their  crea- 
tures," and  they  rested  until  Monday  morning,  when 
they  would  again  begin  their  six  long  days  of  hard 
work.  The  writer  of  the  manuscript  from  which 
these  facts  are  taken  says  that  without  this  rest  on 
the  Sabbath  these  men  could  not  have  stood  the  awful 
grind  of  the  week  days.47 

In  those  times  Sabbath  observance  was  taken  seri- 
ously. The  children  were  not  allowed  to  whistle  or 
sing  any  tunes  except  psalm  tunes,  or  read  any  books 

"  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 
47  The  same. 


228  Passaconaway 

except  religious  ones.48  During  the  period  which  we 
are  now  considering,  two  young  brothers  went  into 
what  was  later  known  as  the  Church  Field  after  some 
cherries  one  Sunday.  But  the  cherries  had  gone  by. 
One  of  the  boys  thereupon  said  to  the  other,  "Let  us 
go  over  to  the  pond  and  get  some  berries."  No  sooner 
said  than  off  they  started.  They  pushed  on  through 
the  narrow  strip  of  woods,  towards  the  first  Deer  Pond, 
which  we  now  call  Church  Pond.  On  coming  within 
sight  of  the  pond,  they  saw  some  dark  object  in  the 
water  on  the  farther  side.  While  they  watched  it,  they 
saw  it  begin  to  come  towards  them.  Without  any 
means  of  defense,  yet  having  a  great  curiosity  to  learn 
what  it  was,  each  took  to  a  tree.  Evidently  it  was  the 
head  of  some  large  animal  swimming  towards  them. 
At  first  a  great  fear  came  over  them,  for  their  guilty 
consciences  told  them  that  it  might  be  some  monster 
sent  to  punish  them  for  their  Sabbath-breaking.  Slowly 
the  animal  continued  to  swim  in  their  direction  until 
it  could  touch  bottom.  Then  out  came  its  huge  shoul- 
ders, and  the  next  moment  it  waded  ashore  at  their 
very  feet.  Here  it  stood,  at  the  edge  of  the  pond, 
gazing  up  at  the  strange  fruit  in  the  trees  as  curi- 
ously as  the  terrified  little  fellows  stared  back  at  it. 
Then  the  huge  beast  retraced  its  steps,  swam  across 
to  the  spot  where  they  had  first  seen  it,  and  majesti- 
cally stalked  off  into  the  woods.  It  was  a  moose, 
and  probably  had  young  somewhere  near.  Scrambling 
down  from  their  perches,  the  boys  ran  home  and  told 
the  family  of  having  seen  a  "very  ferocious  animal, 

"Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          229 

with  large,  wild-looking  eyes  and  a  dangerous  coun- 
tenance." 49 

In  those  days  beaten  paths  were  found  running 
from  the  pond  in  several  directions.  These  were  the 
avenues  worn  smooth  by  deer  and  moose  in  going 
to  their  drinking-place.  Some  boys  thought  they  would 
make  a  snare  across  one  of  these  paths.  Bending 
down  a  tree  so  large  that  it  was  all  the  two  could  do 
to  bring  it  down  with  their  weight,  they  fastened  it 
with  a  strong  rope,  in  which  they  rigged  a  noose. 
When  next  they  visited  the  trap,  they  found  a  moose 
caught  in  it.50 

After  the  first  snowfall  in  the  autumn  of  1831,  a 
moose  crossed  the  river  and  passed  through  the  fields 
to  one  of  the  southern  mountains,  and,  shortly  after, 
retraced  his  steps.  He  was  evidently  looking  for  good 
winter  quarters.  Some  of  the  young  men  followed 
the  trail  until  they  found  tracks  of  different  sizes, 
which  showed  that  there  must  be  a  number  of  moose 
in  the  vicinity.  The  young  men  walked  in  a  circle, 
not  crossing  a  track,  until  they  came  to  their  own 
footprints  again.  Then  they  went  home  to  wait  for 
more  snow  and  a  good  crust.  Not  until  March  were 
they  rewarded  for  their  patience.  Then  these  three 
brothers  went  to  the  place  where  the  moose  were 
yarded  up  and  killed  four  in  one  day.  These  were 
the  last  moose  known  to  have  been  killed  in  the  Swift 
River  Valley.51 

"  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 
"The  same. 
"The  same. 


230  Passaconaivay 

Becoming  dissatisfied  with  the  reputation  of  the 
town,  due  to  Chocorua's  curse  and  the  "Burton  Ail," 
many  of  the  townspeople  thought  it  might  be  bene- 
ficial to  change  the  name.  Some  suggested  the  name 
"Boston,"  others  various  other  names.  After  much 
discussion,  it  was  decided  to  call  it  "Albany,"  from 
the  capital  of  New  York  state.52  In  1832,  therefore, 
the  citizens  petitioned  the  legislature,  and,  on  July  2, 
!833,  with  that  body's  sanction,  the  town  of  Burton 
became  "Albany,"  53  by  which  name  it  is  known  to- 
day. Because  of  the  two  distinct  halves  of  the  town, 
which  are  completely  shut  off  from  each  other  by  moun- 
tains, the  lower  half  is  known  as  South  Albany  and 
the  upper  as  Albany  Intervale.  One  can  readily  ap- 
preciate the  difficulty  under  which  the  town  business 
was  and  is  transacted  because  of  the  necessity  of  travel- 
ing around  the  mountain,  twenty  miles,  to  town  meet- 
ing. The  majority  of  the  voters  lived  in  South  Albany 
and  held  most  of  the  town  offices  and  administered 
the  town's  affairs  to  suit  themselves.  At  present,  the 
town  meetings  are  held  alternately  in  South  Albany 
and  Albany  Intervale,  the  meetings  being  held  in 
the  tiny  schoolhouses. 

But  "can  the  Ethiopian  change  his  skin  or  the  leop- 
ard his  spots?"54  Even  with  the  name  of  the  town 
changed,  the  cattle  still  persisted  in  dying  of  the  "Bur- 

B  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 

"Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  782;  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  342; 
Hayward:  N.  E.  Gazetteer,  1839;  »«  Rollins:  Tourists'  Guide-Book, 
N.  H.,  99- 

**  Russell  and  Colbath  MS.,  quoting  Jer.  13:23. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          231 

ton  Ail"  and  the  troubles  of  the  settlers  did  not  cease. 
Down  from  the  mountains  came  wolves,  killing  or 
driving  away  the  deer  and  threatening  the  lonely  and 
scattered  inhabitants.  The  few  families  in  this  deso- 
late intervale,  when  night  came  on,  could  hear  the 
dismal  howl  of  the  wolves  beginning  far  off  on  one 
of  the  mountains  and  gradually  increasing  in  volume 
until  the  noise  became  a  blood-curdling  chorus.55 

In  1834  some  of  the  intervale  settlers  began  to  feel 
the  need  of  religious  meetings,  especially  on  the  Sab- 
bath. Therefore  two  aged  women,  with  fear  and 
trembling,  went  one  Sunday  morning  to  a  house  near 
the  center  of  the  settlement  to  see  what  could  be  done. 
To  their  surprise  they  were  met  by  another  on  the 
same  mission,  who  had  come  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. As  neither  party  had  knowledge  of  the  other's 
intentions,  they  were  greatly  encouraged,  and  ap- 
pointed a  meeting  for  the  following  Sunday.  Others 
joined  them  "to  sing,  pray,  read  and  exhort."  For 
years  these  little  meetings  were  kept  up,  with  the  occa- 
sional help  of  a  minister  from  South  Albany  or  from 
some  neighboring  town.  A  little  society  was  formed 
as  a  branch  of  the  Free  Will  Baptist  Church  and  ten 
members  joined,  while  others  affiliated  with  other 
churches,  as  they  believed  right.56  There  is  no  church 
in  the  intervale,  although  meetings  have  been  held  in 
the  schoolhouse  some  summers,  when  visiting  clergy- 
men have  preached. 

Not  until  1837  was  the  town  road  laid  out.    Up  to 

"  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 
The  same. 


232  Passaconaway 

that  time  inhabitants  of  the  Albany  Intervale  had  to 
drive  from  door  to  door,  and  through  fields,  to  any 
place  they  wished  to  go.  In  1837  they  petitioned  the 
selectmen  to  lay  out  a  highway  from  the  Conway  line 
to  the  Waterville  line.  The  selectmen  at  that  time 
were  Joshua  Nickerson,  David  Allard  and  Samuel 
Lawrence,  all  of  whom  lived  at  South  Albany.  The 
"town  fathers"  feared  the  cost  of  such  a  road  as  was 
petitioned  for.  To  avoid  the  expense  of  bridging  the 
river,  they  laid  out  the  road  "to  the  river,  and  from 
the  river,  when  they  came  to  it."  57  Of  course  by  this 
plan  a  very  long,  zig-zag  and  inconvenient  road  was 
the  result,  but  it  was  some  improvement  over  the  old 
way.  Says  the  author  of  the  Russell  Manuscript:  "I 
give  this  as  a  fair  sample  of  the  way  the  town  busi- 
ness was  done  until  at  length  the  credit  of  the  town 
was  gone."  58 

During  the  thirties  a  great  fever  of  land  specula- 
tion raged  throughout  the  country,  and  almost  the  en- 
tire township  was  lotted  off,  mountains  as  well  as  bog 
and  marsh  being  sold  at  fabulous  prices  to  New  York 
and  Boston  parties.59 

In  1840  an  interesting  experiment  was  tried.  Lum- 
bermen from  the  Saco  came  into  the  valley,  bought 
timber  lands  and  attempted  to  drive  logs  down  the 
Swift  River.  The  swiftness  of  the  little  river  during 
the  spring  freshets,  its  crookedness,  and  the  rockiness 
of  its  bed  prevented  success.  Thereupon  the  men  peti- 

"  Russell  and  Colbath  MS. 

"The  same. 

'l!> Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  783;  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  342. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          233 

tioned  the  legislature  for  permission  to  construct  a 
sluiceway.  Thus  armed,  they  built  side-dams  and 
sluiceways,  being  obliged  to  do  much  blasting.  For 
a  few  years  logs  were  hauled  to  the  river  bank, 
whence,  by  the  help  of  the  sluiceways,  they  were  driven 
down  the  Swift  into  the  Saco.  But  this  operation  after 
a  while  was  suspended,  and  the  river  once  more  "rolled 
unvexed"  60  to  its  confluence  with  the  Saco. 

After  narrating  this  repulse  of  the  attack  of  the 
timber-slaughterers,  the  author  of  the  old  manuscript 
from  which  I  am  transcribing  data,  jubilantly  bursts 
out  into  poetry  thus: 

"Oh,  fair  Swift  River,  go  on  and  go  by, 

Go  on  and  go  down  till  the  voice  of  the  sea 

And  the  white  lips  of  surf  and  the  hand  of  the  tide 

And  the  might  of  the  deep,  where  great  ships  ride, 

Reach  out  and  give  welcome  to  thee."  61 

After  chronicling  this  experiment  of  river-driving, 
perhaps  I  may  mention  here  various  railroad  projects. 
In  1839  a  survey  of  the  intervale  was  made  for  a  rail- 
road route  from  Portland  to  Vermont.  No  such  rail- 
road was  built,  however.62  On  July  9,  1874,  a  charter 
was  granted  to  the  Swift  River  Railroad.  It  was  pro- 
posed to  build  this  railroad  from  the  height  of  land 
in  Waterville  to  Conway,  where  it  was  to  connect 
with  the  Portsmouth,  Great  Falls  and  Conway  Rail- 
road.63 This  railroad  never  was  constructed. 

00  Abraham  Lincoln. 

61  Mrs.  Amzi  Russell  in  the  Russell  MS. 
02  Merrill :  Hist,  of  Carroll  Co.,  783. 
08  The  same,  68. 


234  Passaconaway 

For  many  years  the  Bartlett  Land  and  Lumber 
Company  owned  and  operated  a  lumber  railroad  from 
Upper  Bartlett  to  the  Albany  Intervale.  This  road 
ran  through  the  Bear  Mountain  Notch.  Frank  Bolles 
gives  a  fascinating  description  of  riding  on  the  engine 
of  the  lumber  train  on  this  road,  late  in  i89i.64  I  think 
that  the  road  was  in  operation  from  the  early  1 870*3 
until  the  i89o's.  In  1906  or  1907  a  lumber  railroad 
from  Conway  to  the  Albany  Intervale  was  built  by 
the  Conway  Lumber  Company.  Over  this  road  many 
millions  of  feet  of  fine  timber  have  been  hauled  out 
of  the  valley.  But  while  this  chapter  is  being  written 
(in  May,  1916),  a  rumor  comes  to  me  that  the  Com- 
pany has  sold  out  its  lands  to  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment and  that  the  road  will  be  discontinued  and 
the  rails  taken  up. 

Let  us  glance  at  some  of  the  settlers  who  followed 
the  pioneers  whom  we  have  already  mentioned.  Among 
the  early  settlers  were  the  Bickford,  Broughton,  Shack- 
ford  and  Burbank  families.  Ebenezer  Burbank  moved 
into  the  intervale  from  Conway  about  1830.  He 
owned  land  on  both  sides  of  the  Swift  River.  He 
found  the  low,  level  land  on  the  south  side  of  the 
river  best  for  raising  hay;  while  the  sunny  hillside 
(now  known  as  Birch  Ridge)  was  less  frosty,  and 
therefore  better  for  corn  and  other  vegetables.  His 
farm  was  about  one-half  mile  east  of  Shackford's.  In 
1866  Mr.  Burbank  moved  to  Madison.  He  had  been 
Selectman  of  Albany  for  nine  years.65  His  eldest  son, 

"Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  243-5. 
04  Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  786-7. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present         235 

Hubbard  C.  Burbank,  succeeded  him  on  the  farm  in 
the  intervale.  Hubbard  C.  Burbank  died  in  1885. 
Soon  afterwards  the  Burbank  farm  came  into  posses- 
sion of  Richard  Hill,  and  to  this  day  it  is  known  as 
"the  Dick  Hill  Place."  After  Hill's  ownership  of  the 
farm  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  George  B.  James, 
and  by  him  was  sold  to  the  Conway  Lumber  Com- 
pany. This  farm  was  included  in  the  lands  purchased 
in  1915-1916  by  the  United  States  Government  to  be 
a  portion  of  the  National  Forest  Reservation. 

One  of  the  earlier  settlers  who,  by  homestead  right, 
acquired  land  in  the  Albany  Intervale,  was  Thomas 
H.  Shackford,  a  hard-working  and  prosperous  farmer. 
He  succeeded  in  raising  some  fine  cattle,  even  when 
his  neighbors  failed.  He  cleared  many  acres  of  land, 
and  erected  the  largest  group  of  buildings  in  the 
intervale.  Until  fire  laid  flat  the  Passaconaway  House, 
with  its  sheds  and  barns,  on  February  13,  1916,  speci- 
mens of  the  senior  Shackford's  handiwork  could  be 
seen.  In  the  barns,  sheds,  and  in  the  attic  of  the 
house,  one  could  look  upon  the  great  oak  beams,  bear- 
ing ax-marks,  for  they  were  all  hand-hewn.  The 
frames  of  the  buildings  were  held  together  with  oak 
pegs.  The  white  pine  shingles  were  riven  out  by  hand, 
and  these  original  shingles,  up  to  the  time  the  build- 
ings were  consumed  by  flame,  seemed  to  be  as  sound 
and  serviceable  as  when  first  laid.  Many  were  the  in- 
teresting and  sometimes  exciting  experiences  of  this 
settler.  His  son  used  to  tell  of  poling  about  in  flat- 
bottomed  boats,  near  the  barn,  during  spring  freshets, 
when  the  water  came  up  around  the  back  part  of  the 


236  Passaconaway 

buildings.  The  Albany  Intervale  lost  one  of  the  best 
citizens  it  ever  had  when  Thomas  H.  Shackford  died 
in  1864.  His  body  rests  in  the  little  Russell  Cemetery, 
adjoining  Mrs.  Colbath's  yard.66 

James  M.  Shackford,  son  of  Thomas  H.,  was  born 
in  the  Albany  Intervale  about  1836.  After  the  Civil 
War,  tourists,  attracted  by  the  scenery  and  pure  spring 
water,  began  to  visit  the  intervale,  and  "Shackford's" 
soon  became  a  popular  summer  resort.  The  rapid  in- 
crease in  the  number  of  summer  boarders  soon  neces- 
sitated the  enlargement  of  the  house.  In  the  old  age 
and  failing  health  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Shackford,  they 
sold  their  farm,  in  1907,  to  Mr.  Alfred  Povall,  of 
Cambridge,  Mass.  Neither  Mr.  nor  Mrs.  Shack- 
ford survived  the  change  long.  From  their  new  home 
in  Conway  both  passed  on  into  the  "Great  Beyond." 
"Uncle  Jim"  and  "Aunt  Hannah,"  as  we  neighbors 
lovingly  called  them,  were  typical,  hard-working,  and 
thrifty  Yankees.  How  we  children  did  enjoy  listening 
to  Uncle  Jim's  stories !  Our  favorite  ones  were  about 
an  "all  fired  big  bear,"  the  burning  over  of  Mount 
Tremont,  and  the  description  of  the  great  Passacon- 
away slide  in  the  go's.  And  when  Mr.  Shackford  went 
surveying  with  a  certain  primitive  instrument,  one 
would  think  that  George  Washington,  the  young  sur- 
veyor, had  been  re-embodied.  Uncle  Jim  was  a  man 
of  inflexible  honesty,  "as  square  as  a  brick,"  and  his 
"word  was  as  good  as  his  bond."  He  served  in  al- 
most every  town  office  and  for  several  terms  was  sent 
to  Concord  by  his  fellow-citizens  as  their  Representa- 

66  Mrs.  Colbath's  letters. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          237 

tive  in  the  state  legislature.  To  Mr.  Shackford,  more 
than  to  any  other  one  person,  is  the  valley  indebted 
for  its  development  as  a  summer  resort.  Fishermen, 
hunters  and  mountain-climbers  liked  the  house  he  kept, 
and  to  this  day  the  intervale  is  more  widely  known  as 
"Shackford's"  than  as  "Passaconaway." 

Charles  Church  came  here  from  Massachusetts 
some  time  between  1840  and  1850.  He  was  engaged 
in  the  lumber  business  and  purchased  land  far  up  the 
river,  nearly  up  to  Sabbaday  Brook.  At  first  he  en- 
deavored to  run  logs  down  the  Swift  River,  but  soon 
discovered  that  this  was  impracticable.  He  built  a 
mill  for  manufacturing  lumber.  He  also  erected  a 
small  house  at  the  extreme  upper  end  of  the  settle- 
ment where  a  field  had  formerly  been  cleared  by  the 
Morse  family.  Here  he  and  his  family  lived  while  he 
superintended  his  interests.  He  was  unsuccessful  in 
his  business  venture,  and  left  the  valley  much  poorer 
in  pocket  than  when  he  came  in.  Many  years  later, 
his  wife  and  daughter  having  died  meanwhile,  he  re- 
turned to  the  intervale,  probably  about  1870.  He 
spent  his  remaining  days  with  the  Shackfords,  until  his 
body  was  laid  to  rest  in  the  little  Russell  Cemetery  in 
the  valley  which  he  loved  dearly.67 

Gilbert  Chase  lived  in  "the  yellow  house,"  near 
Onslow  S.  Smith's,  from  about  1848  to  1855.  His 
wife  died  in  1855,  and  the  family  was  scattered,  most 
of  the  children  preferring  city  life  and  work  in  the 
factories.68 

*7Mrs.  Colbath's  letters. 
"Mrs.  Colbath. 


238  Passaconaway 

James  Mayhew,  a  veteran  of  the  Civil  War  and  a 
G.  A.  R.  man,  came  into  Albany  Intervale  about  1870, 
and  built  a  small  house  for  summer  boarders,  which 
was  known  as  the  "Carrigain  House,"  which  became 
popular  and  which  was  carried  on  successfully  until 
its  owner's  death  in  1895.  The  boarders  would  get 
up  coaching  parties  to  attend  the  circus  at  North  Con- 
way.  This  was  their  cheer,  which  they  were  wont  to 
fling  out  on  such  occasions: 

"Yellow  and  white!     Yellow  and  white! 
We're  from  Mayhew's,  we're  all  right!" 

They  would  then  flourish  their  yellow  and  white 
streamers.  Many  were  the  good  times  enjoyed  in 
this  hospitable  mountain  hostelry.  Frank  Bolles  used 
to  make  the  Carrigain  House  his  headquarters  when  in 
the  Albany  Intervale.69  Some  time  after  the  death  of 
Mr.  Mayhew,  the  house  was  temporarily  occupied  by 
"Jack"  Allen.  Later  it  was  used  by  the  Conway  Lum- 
ber Company  to  house  some  of  its  field  officials.  Here, 
too,  the  Lumber  Company  erected  a  store.  I  am  told 
that,  after  the  Lumber  Company  finishes  lumbering, 
the  house  is  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  government 
Forest  Wardens. 

Joseph  Annis  came  in  1869  and  was  the  town's 
representative  in  the  legislature  in  1875  and  1877.™ 
Mr.  Annis  was  a  very  upright  and  religious  man.  He 
drove  the  stage  from  Passaconaway  to  Conway  and 

88  See  Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water. 
70 Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  786-7. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          239 

carried  the  mail  over  this  route  for  years.  His  farm, 
the  old  Weeks  clearing,  joined  the  Mayhew  farm  on 
the  east  side  of  the  latter.  The  large  house  and  barns 
and  broad  fields  are  familiar  to  all  who  have  any  ac- 
quaintance with  the  Albany  Intervale.  From  the  lower 
(eastern)  end  of  his  field,  near  the  sharp  bend  in  the 
Swift  River,  one  can  get  a  view  of  Mount  Washing- 
ton, through  the  Bear  Mountain  Notch. 

James  Annis  succeeded  his  father  as  stage-driver 
and  farmer.  He  is  a  hard-working  man,  supplement- 
ing his  farm  work  and  postal-route  activities  with  team- 
ing. Ever  since  Joseph  Annis  settled  in  the  valley,  the 
Annis  home  has  been  a  favorite  boarding-place;  hun- 
dreds of  fishermen,  hunters,  trampers,  summer  board- 
ers, and  week-enders  have  enjoyed  its  bountiful  hos- 
pitality. James'  son,  Earl,  now  grown  to  manhood's 
estate,  follows  along  the  same  lines  of  activity  as  his 
father  and  grandfather,  and  is  a  steady,  industrious 
young  man. 

Soon  after  the  close  of  the  Civil  War,  George  A. 
Loring,  a  Union  veteran  and  a  Boston  architect,  came 
into  this  region  for  his  health,  and  fell  in  love  with 
the  Passaconaway  Intervale.  After  boarding  here 
several  summers,  he  became  so  much  attached  to  the 
place  that  he  purchased  a  lot  and  built  a  little  bunga- 
low. Here  he  spent  long  delightful  summers.  He 
had  the  best  garden  in  the  intervale,  in  which,  among 
other  appetizing  delicacies,  he  had  a  bed  of  cultivated 
strawberries.  In  his  cellar  was  a  little  spring,  the 
sides  of  which  he  boarded  up,  thus  making  a  natural 
ice-chest,  an  original  "White  Mountain  Refrigerator." 


240  Passaconavjay 

Mr.  Loring  could  cook  as  well  as  any  woman.  Nor 
was  he  destitute  of  humor.  "Once  upon  a  time"  (so 
all  the  fairy  stories  begin,  but  this  is  not  a  fairy  tale) , 
a  party  of  his  friends  came  into  the  intervale  and 
asked  him  to  pilot  them  into  the  very  heart  of  the 
wilderness,  where  they  wished  to  camp  for  three  weeks. 
At  daylight,  next  morning,  the  obliging  host  mustered 
the  little  army  of  would-be  campers,  and  led  the  march 
into  the  great  woods.  All  day  they  tramped,  up  hill 
and  down  dale,  until,  at  dusk,  the  word  was  given 
to  pitch  the  tents.  This  done,  Mr.  Loring  took  his 
farewell,  promising  to  return  in  a  few  days,  and  ex- 
tracting from  the  campers  a  solemn  promise  that  they 
would  keep  close  to  camp,  lest  they  stray  off,  get  lost, 
and  perhaps  perish.  During  the  next  fortnight,  Mr. 
Loring,  as  guardian  angel,  paid  four  or  five  visits  to 
the  campers,  each  time  repeating  his  warning  to  "hug 
the  camp."  During  the  third  week,  a  camper,  more 
adventurous  than  his  fellows,  wandered  perhaps  a  full 
half  mile  from  headquarters.  At  this  terrifying  dis- 
tance from  his  comrades,  Mr.  Camper  came  out  upon 
the  highway  squarely  in  front  of  Mr.  Loring's  little 
red  bungalow,  with  its  welcoming  Santa  Claus  in  the 
front  window.  Animated  with  a  love  of  fun  and  a 
desire  to  make  his  periodic  journeys  to  camp  as  short 
as  possible,  Mr.  Loring,  on  the  first  day,  had  marched 
the  innocents  round  and  round  in  great  circles  until, 
daylight  having  worn  itself  away,  camp  was  pitched 
within  a  short  distance  of  the  starting-point. 

Mr.  Loring  fondly  hoped  to  end  his  days  in  the 
beautiful  intervale,  which,  for  many  years,  he  called 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          241 

"home."  But  it  was  not  so  to  be.  With  the  revival 
of  the  lumber  activities,  under  the  Conway  Lumber 
Company,  a  lumber  railroad  once  more  penetrated 
the  quiet,  peaceful  valley.  The  very  thought  of  such 
profane  intrusion  was  so  repugnant  to  this  lover  of 
solitude  and  scenery  that  he  sold  his  cottage  and  land 
to  A.  C.  Kennett,  of  Conway,  and  returned  to  Boston 
in  I9o6.71  Only  a  few  years  after  this  abandonment 
of  his  old  familiar  and  well-beloved  mountain  home, 
Mr.  Loring  died.  Was  he  heart-broken?  Who  can 
tell?  The  little  bungalow  still  stands  there,  on  the 
bank  of  the  Swift  River,  between  the  White  Brook  and 
the  Olivarian,  but  its  dreamer,  its  creator,  its  soul,  has 
departed. 

To  "Jack"  Allen,  the  intervale's  most  picturesque 
inhabitant,  I  shall  devote  an  entire  chapter. 

During  the  periods  of  lumbering  operations,  the  in- 
tervale again  and  again  has  teemed  with  "lumber- 
jacks." Many  a  French  Canadian  brought  a  big  fam- 
ily into  the  valley,  living  in  some  of  the  shanties  at 
the  lower  (eastern)  end  of  the  "Great  Intervale,"  near 
the  Bolles  Trail,  or  in  some  of  the  many  paper-roofed 
log  "shacks"  on  the  banks  of  the  various  streams  flow- 
ing into  the  Swift  River.  Among  these  numerous 
French  Canadians  was  a  man  known  among  the  Eng- 
lish-speaking portion  of  the  community  as  "Bumble- 
bee." Probably  his  real  name  was  Bodreau.72  He 
came  about  1890,  and  remained  three  or  four  years. 
He  never  owned  any  land,  but  occupied  a  little  shanty 

"Mrs.  Colbath. 
"The  same. 


242  Passaconaway 

on  the  south  side  of  the  highway,  just  west  of  the  pres- 
ent Camp  Paugus,  which  is  owned  by  Elijah  B.  Carl- 
ton.  Here  the  remains  of  an  old  well  may  be  seen. 
This  was  the  site  of  Bumblebee's  humble  home,  im- 
mortalized by  Frank  Bolles  in  one  of  his  chapters.73 
And  humble  indeed  it  was.  The  one-roomed  shack 
was  twelve  feet  long  and  ten  feet  wide.  The  ridge- 
pole was  only  twelve  feet  from  the  ground.  The  roof 
was  unshingled.  The  chimney  was  a  crazy  stove-pipe. 
Of  Bumblebee's  five  children,  the  oldest  was  eight 
years  old.  The  mind  of  Bumblebee's  wife  was  af- 
fected. Who  can  wonder? 

Onslow  S.  Smith  became  a  resident  of  the  "Great 
Valley"  about  1890.  He  was  the  son  of  Thurston 
Smith,  a  prominent  citizen  of  South  Albany.  From 
Mr.  Shackford  he  bought  a  strip  of  land  between  the 
Passaconaway  House  and  what  was,  at  one  time,  the 
Tibado  place,  living  in  the  house  which  he  has  since 
enlarged.  Mr.  Smith  has  engaged  in  lumbering,  hunt- 
ing, fishing,  trapping,  gumming,  farming,  etc.  He  is 
the  best  guide  in  all  this  region,  and  repeatedly  has 
served  the  Appalachian  Mountain  Club  and  its  indi- 
vidual members  in  this  capacity.  He  is  quick,  power- 
ful, resourceful  and  able.  Mr.  Smith  has  held  almost 
every  office  within  the  gift  of  the  town.  He  has  served 
as  moderator  of  town  meetings  for  years,  making  an 
admirable  presiding  officer,  because  of  his  familiarity 
with  parliamentary  rules  and  state  law,  his  cool- 
headedness  and  fairness.  His  experiences  in  the  great 
woods  would  make  an  interesting  little  volume. 

"Bolles:  At  the  North  of  Bearcamp  Water,  275. 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          243 

In  1902  my  father,  who  had  been  camping  in  the 
Passaconaway  Intervale  for  four  summers,  bought  a 
small  parcel  of  land  from  Mr.  Shackford,  and  the  fol- 
lowing summer  built  a  cottage,  which  in  succeeding 
summers  he  repeatedly  enlarged.  This  was  the  sec- 
ond cottage  erected  by  "summer  people"  in  the  valley, 
Mr.  Loring's  being  the  first.  Later,  Father  bought 
from  Elijah  Carlton  eighty-five  or  ninety  acres,  for- 
merly owned  by  John  Tibado. 

Mr.  Alfred  Povall,  the  last  proprietor  of  the  old 
Passaconaway  House,  was  born  in  England.  Coming 
to  the  United  States  soon  after  his  marriage,  he  served 
as  chief  engineer  in  various  large  concerns  in  Port- 
land, Me.,  the  mining  region  of  Pennsylvania,  and  in 
Massachusetts.  The  Povalls  had  been  our  next-door 
neighbors  in  Cambridge,  Mass.  The  son,  James  T. 
Povall,  had  passed  through  a  severe  sickness.  We  in- 
veigled him  up  to  "God's  Country"  in  the  "Land  of 
the  Sky"  (Passaconaway).  A  single  summer  put  him 
on  his  feet  again.  He  felt  like  a  new  man.  He  fell 
in  love  with  the  intervale,  and,  at  his  suggestion,  his 
father  purchased  the  Passaconaway  House  from  Mr. 
Shackford  in  1907.  The  old  hostelry  was  practically 
rebuilt,  an  automobile  was  purchased,  and  telephone 
connection  with  the  outside  world  was  established. 
These  improvements  attracted  a  new  group  of  patrons, 
and  the  little  farm-house  hotel  became  a  busy  place 
from  July  to  October.  The  daughter  taught  the  Passa- 
conaway school.  The  son  (James  T.)  served  the 
town  of  Albany  in  various  offices,  for  one  term  being 
Representative  in  the  legislature  at  Concord.  He  was 


244  Passaconaway 

also  Postmaster  of  Passaconaway. 

On  Sunday  morning,  February  13,  1916,  the  chim- 
ney of  the  Passaconaway  House  took  fire.  Mr.  Povall 
and  his  son  succeeded,  as  they  supposed,  in  extinguish- 
ing the  flames.  After  dinner,  while  "Father"  Povall 
was  taking  a  nap,  "Jim"  awakened  him  with  the  alarm- 
ing information  that  all  the  upper  part  of  the  house, 
around  the  chimney,  was  ablaze.  So  thick  was  the 
smoke  that  nothing  could  be  rescued  from  the  second 
or  third  floors.  The  nearest  fire  department  was  fif- 
teen miles  away — at  Conway.  'Twas  the  depth  of  win- 
ter and  bitterly  cold.  Nothing  could  be  done  to  save 
the  buildings.  A  strong  west  wind  swept  the  fire 
through  the  house,  sheds  and  barns,  in  two  hours  lay- 
ing them  flat;  only  the  laundry,  to  the  windward  of 
the  flames,  and  the  garage  and  Post  Office,  across  the 
street,  escaping.  Nothing  remained  of  the  historic 
old  buildings  except  a  layer  of  ashes  and  black  cinders. 
Only  a  little  of  the  furniture  in  the  two  front  rooms  on 
the  ground  floor  was  saved.  The  ruin  of  the  build- 
ings was  complete.  The  neighbors  loyally  hastened 
to  the  burning  house  and  rendered  what  assistance  they 
could.  The  horse,  the  faithful  old  house-dog,  and 
other  animals  were  saved.  For  several  days  the 
Povalls  were  the  guests  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Smith.  Then 
they  took  up  temporary  quarters  in  Camp  Paugus  (the 
Elijah  B.  Carlton  cottage). 

The  fire  refugees  lived  in  Camp  Paugus  until  May, 
1916.  'Twas  a  frightfully  cold  winter  and  an  un- 
usually blustering  spring.  During  the  more  than  quar- 
ter century  of  Mr.  Smith's  residence  in  the  intervale, 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          245 

the  wind  never  blew  so  hard  and  so  continuously. 
Some  nights,  it  seemed  as  if  the  cottage  would  be 
blown  over  bodily.  On  one  occasion,  at  least,  the 
family  rose  at  2  a.  m.,  wrapped  blankets  around  their 
shivering  bodies,  and  huddled  about  the  red-hot  stove, 
miserably  awaiting  daylight.  One  of  the  minor  com- 
pensations for  this  chapter  of  hardship  was  a  gorgeous 
display  of  Northern  Lights. 

When  the  family  bade  their  final  farewell  to  the 
valley  on  May  6,  the  mountains  were  still  clothed  with 
snow;  indeed  the  peaks  were  whiter  than  they  ever 
had  seen  them  before.  On  their  way  down  to  Conway 
they  overtook  a  huge  bear  in  the  road  down  Spruce 
Hill.  When  his  ursine  majesty  saw  the  party  approach- 
ing, he  threw  up  his  muzzle  and  sniffed,  then  turned, 
dug  his  great  claws  into  the  snow,  and  made  off  in 
long  leaps  with  the  speed  of  a  race-horse. 

Miss  Povall  having  married  only  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore the  fire,  the  family  decided  to  accompany  her  to 
her  new  home  in  Spokane,  Washington.  Having  dis- 
posed of  their  property,  the  Povalls  left  Portland,  Me.- 
in  a  bran-new  touring  car,  armed  with  a  letter  of  in- 
troduction from  the  Mayor  of  Portland  to  the  Mayor 
of  Spokane,  Wash.  We  had  the  pleasure  of  welcom- 
ing them  for  a  few  hours  in  our  home  in  Worcester. 
While  I  write  this  paragraph,  they  probably  are  speed- 
ing over  the  roads,  up  the  historic  old  Mohawk  Val- 
ley, headed  for  Niagara  Falls,  Cleveland,  Chicago, 
Yellowstone  Park,  and  their  new  home  in  the  great 
Northwest.  The  good  wishes  of  hosts  of  New  Eng- 
land friends  will  accompany  the  family  on  their  long 


246  Passaconaway 

automobile  trip  and  in  their  new  environment. 

My  father  sold  the  Tibado  farm,  which  he  had 
bought  from  Mr.  Carlton,  to  Mrs.  Eliza  G.  (Metcalf) 
Radeke,  of  Providence,  R.  I.,  a  philanthropic  woman 
of  means  and  unusual  ability.  For  many  years  she  has 
been  the  President  of  the  Rhode  Island  School  of  De- 
sign. This  is  only  one  of  the  many  enterprises  in 
which  she  is  interested  and  to  which  she  gives  liberally. 
Mrs.  Radeke  built  three  bungalows,  one  of  which  is 
now  the  property  of  Rev.  Arthur  P.  Hunt,  a  profes- 
sor in  the  Episcopal  Theological  School  in  New  York 
City.  Mrs.  Hunt  (Mrs.  Una  A.  Hunt)  is  the  well- 
known  author  of  "Una  Mary"  and  other  books.  She 
is  the  daughter  of  Professor  Frank  Wigglesworth 
Clarke,  the  renowned  chief  chemist  of  the  U.  S.  Geo- 
logical Survey,  a  member  of  innumerable  learned  so- 
cieties and  the  author  of  many  scientific  books. 

Since  the  Passaconaway  House  was  burned,  Mr. 
Hunt  has  purchased  from  Alfred  Povall  the  old  Shack- 
ford  farm.  A  new  hotel,  containing  twenty  sleeping 
rooms,  will  be  erected,  and  this  will  be  run  as  such  a 
mountain  hostelry  should  be  run,  so  that  lovers  of  the 
mountains  will  be  attracted  here,  perhaps  as  never  be- 
fore. Thus,  in  coming  years,  as  in  the  past  half-cen- 
tury, this  most  beautiful  valley  in  all  the  White  Moun- 
tains will  be  able  to  extend  a  welcome  to  those  who 
appreciate  and  desire  unsurpassed  scenery  and  invigo- 
rating mountain  air. 

Thus,  although  individuals  and  families  and  genera- 
tions come  and  go,  neither  time  nor  tide  (to  use  Mrs. 
Russell's  phraseology)  has  swept  away  the  mountain 


Albany  Intervale,  Past  and  Present          247 

wall  which  surrounds  our  cloud-land  valley;  but,  "as 
the  mountains  are  round  about  Jerusalem,"  74  so,  on 
a  larger  scale,  do  grander  peaks  engird  and  fortify 
Passaconaway  in  the  White  Mountains.75 

71  Ps.  125:2. 

"Brief  Bibliography  on  Albany.  Merrill:  History  of  Carroll 
County,  1889,  782-7;  Osgood's  White  Mountains,  1880  edition,  342-4; 
Coolidge  and  Mansfield:  History  and  Description  of  New  England, 
1861,  volume  on  New  Hampshire,  405-7;  Farmer  and  Moore:  Gazet- 
teer of  New  Hampshire,  1823,  38  (under  the  name  of  "Burton")  ; 
Charlton:  New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  1856,  89;  Hayward:  New  England 
Gazetteer,  1839,  in  loco;  Rollins:  Tourists'  Guide-book  to  the  State 
of  New  Hampshire,  1902,  99-100. 

In  a  single  chapter  of  a  book  like  this  it  would  be  impossible  to 
attempt  a  complete  local  history.  Only  a  few  of  the  more  interesting 
facts  can  be  presented.  In  an  exhaustive  record  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  speak  of  many  who  are  not  mentioned  in  the  foregoing  ac- 
count For  example,  there  was  John  Douglas,  who  lived  on  the 
Chase  place  over  the  river,  back  of  the  Annis  farm.  He  built  a  dam 
and  saw-mill,  and  the  Douglas  Brook  was  named  for  him.  He  had 
three  daughters  and  two  sons.  One  boy  caught  his  hand  in  a  bear- 
trap  and  died  from  the  effects  of  the  wound.  The  other  boy  was 
drowned  in  Conway.  On  the  same  site  lived  Orin  Chase  and  the 
Bickfords  and  Deerings.  The  tradition  is  that  Olive  Deering  fell 
into  a  brook  and  was  drowned;  and  "Olivarian,"  the  present  name 
of  this  brook,  is  said  to  be  a  corruption  of  "Olive  Deering."  George 
Purington  built  the  Tibado  house.  A  Mr.  Haskell  built  a  house  and 
mill  at  the  foot  of  Mt.  Potash,  the  ruins  of  which  may  be  seen  to-day. 
Allen's  Mill,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  intervale,  was  built  by  William 
Allen.  John  L.  Peavey  conducted  extensive  lumbering  operations  in 
the  valley  in  the  1890*8.  (See  biographical  sketch  in  Merrill:  Hist, 
of  Carroll  County,  N.  H.,  391.)  The  Passaconaway  Post  Office  was 
established  about  1890.  Frank  Bolles  assisted  in  securing  it.  Lawyer 
Carter,  of  Tamvvorth,  or  Ossipee,  suggested  the  name.  The  office, 
for  many  years  after  its  opening,  was  in  charge  of  Mrs.  Colbath,  as 
postmistress. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A   CHAPTER  OF  ADVENTURES 

Bounties  on  Bears 

BEARS  always  have  abounded  in  the  Albany  Inter- 
vale. Sixteen  of  them  were  killed  during  one 
month,  October,  I866.1  At  one  time  they  became  a 
nuisance  and  a  menace.  Hence  the  town,  although 
poor,  offered  a  generous  bounty  upon  bears,  said  bounty 
to  be  paid  upon  the  presentation  of  the  ears  of  the 
bear.  Bounties  were  claimed  and  paid  on  a  surpris- 
ingly large  numbers  of  bears'  ears.  Presently  it  came 
to  light  that  some  of  the  people  then  in  the  town  were 
cutting  out  pieces  of  sheep-skin  to  resemble  bears'  ears 
in  shape,  dyeing  these  black,  and  turning  them  in  to 
the  authorities.  So  says  tradition.  I  do  not  vouch 
for  the  alleged  facts. 

Eagle  and  Rabbit 

During  the  summer  of  1903,  some  friends  of  ours 
were  tenting  at  the  foot  of  Hedgehog,  at  beautiful 
"Camp  Comfort."  I  was  a  moccasined,  bare-legged 
lad  of  seven,  and,  upon  hearing  that  the  campers  were 
planning  a  little  target  practice  one  clear,  warm  August 

1  Merrill:  Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  783. 
248 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  249 

morning,  I  was  delighted  and  excited.  Therefore,  as 
soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  I  scampered  and  pattered 
down  the  Mast  Road  just  as  fast  as  my  legs  could 
carry  me,  now  and  then  casting  hasty  glances  over 
my  shoulder  to  see  if  my  departure  had  yet  been  dis- 
covered by  my  parents  in  the  cottage.  I  soon  reached 
the  tall  bushes,  and  behind  this  screen  I  felt  that  I  was 
beyond  the  zone  of  recall.  Nevertheless,  I  sped  on 
with  unabated  ardor,  and  was  within  a  few  rods  of 
the  edge  of  the  woods  when,  "crack!"  went  a  rifle. 
Instantly  a  monstrous  eagle  rose  from  behind  the 
bushes,  tightly  clasping  in  his  talons  something  brown- 
ish gray.  The  eagle  was  within  a  few  rods  of  me. 
Seeing  me,  the  great  bird  began  a  marvelous  ascent  on 
his  three-foot  wings.  As  he  rose,  his  talons  opened 
ever  so  slightly,  and  down  dropped  his  prey  into  the 
bushes.  Within  a  minute  or  two  this  "monarch  of 
the  heavens"  had  dwindled  into  a  mere  speck  in  the 
blue  sky.  Then,  from  this  immense  height,  he  sailed 
off,  straight  as  a  ruler,  over  the  top  of  Passaconaway. 
I  hunted  in  the  bushes  and  found  a  fat,  warm,  lovely 
rabbit.  Picking  it  up,  I  found  it  to  be  quite  dead.  The 
vice-like  talons  had  sunk  deep  into  "Br'er  Rabbit." 
Little  bloody  holes  told  the  story.  The  rabbit  certainly 
was  a  beauty,  dead  or  alive,  being  soft  and  fluffy.  I 
was  completely  captivated  with  the  little  creature  and 
proudly  showed  it  to  the  campers.  But  upon  their 
suggesting  that  a  fine  rabbit  stew  could  be  made,  I 
fled  with  my  prize  back  to  the  cottage,  where  I  cud- 
dled the  furry  thing  for  hours.  It  was  my  intention 
to  keep  the  rabbit  "forever  and  ever,"  just  as  it  was. 


250  Passaconaway 

But  this  plan  was  vetoed  by  the  "powers  that  be." 
After  protracted  protestations  on  my  part,  a  solemn 
funeral  was  held,  and  the  little  creature  was  reverently 
interred. 

A  Blow-down 

When  my  father  decided  to  build  our  cottage, 
"Score-o'-Peaks,"  he  spent  his  spare  hours  of  the  spring 
in  making  a  tent  in  which  the  family  might  live  until  a 
wooden  roof  could  be  erected.  The  tent  was  fifteen 
feet  long,  ten  feet  wide,  with  walls  about  a  yard  high. 
The  poles  were  made  of  pieces  of  steam-pipe,  cut  into 
proper  lengths,  which  sections  could  be  screwed  to- 
gether. The  interior  of  the  tent  was  curtained  off 
into  compartments.  In  addition  to  the  tent  proper, 
which  was  sheltered  by  a  "fly,"  there  was  an  arrange- 
ment for  a  dining  room  or  living  porch  in  front  of 
this  canvas  house.  Nothing  could  be  completer.  With 
our  folding  cots  and  folding  chairs  every  inch  of 
space  was  made  to  count. 

We  had  not  lived  in  the  tent  a  week  before  we  passed 
through  an  exciting  experience.  We  had  gone  to  bed 
and  some  of  us  had  dropped  off  to  sleep,  when  a  roar- 
ing sound  was  heard.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came, 
down  the  mountain-side,  through  the  forest,  and  before 
we  could  realize  what  was  the  cause  of  the  noise,  a 
raging  storm  broke  upon  us.  The  mighty  wind  laid 
low  our  beautiful  tent  at  its  first  onset.  With  the  wind 
came  a  deluge  of  rain.  Crawling  through  the  wet 
tent  canvas,  our  parents  fished  us  children  out  of  our 


A  Chapter  of  Adventures  251 

beds,  rolled  us  in  blankets,  bundled  us  into  the  wheel- 
barrow and  carted  us  over  to  the  hotel.  It  was  a 
terrifying  night.  Tremendous  gusts  of  wind  made 
walking  almost  impossible.  The  rain  seemed  to  come 
in  solid  masses,  and  blazing  lightning  and  crashing 
thunder  were  mingled  with  blackest  darkness. 

We  were  thankful  indeed  to  reach  the  shelter  of  the 
hotel,  which,  in  spite  of  its  heavy  frame  of  great  oak 
beams,  creaked  and  shook.  The  barn  door  was  blown 
off.  Mr.  Shackford  had  been  laying  a  pump-pipe  from 
a  spring  out  of  doors  into  the  kitchen.  The  wind 
blew  in  through  the  ditch  under  the  house  and  lifted 
and  turned  over  some  floor  boards  which  had  been 
temporarily  laid  down  without  being  nailed. 

Father  went  back  to  the  tent  to  learn  the  extent  of 
the  damage.  He  rescued  all  the  supplies,  furniture 
and  clothing,  and  stored  them  in  the  Passaconaway 
House.  He  found  that  the  iron  pipes  which  formed 
the  tent  frame  had  broken  in  places  (at  some  of  the 
threaded  joints).  He  rolled  up  the  tent,  tied  it  in  a 
solid  roll,  and  made  this  bundle  fast  to  a  stake  in  the 
ground.  Next  morning  the  tent  was  set  up  again  and 
its  furnishings  put  back  in  place,  but,  after  such  a  thrill- 
ing experience,  we  children  would  scud  for  the  hotel  if 
a  black  cloud  showed  itself  in  the  sky  all  the  rest  of 
the  summer. 

While  climbing  Chocorua  soon  after  the  "blow- 
down"  we  found  great  trees  prostrate  on  the  ground, 
freshly  uprooted,  and  for  miles  the  ground  was  car- 
peted with  green  leaves  which  had  been  torn  off  by 
the  fury  of  the  storm.  Some  idea  of  the  force  of  the 


252  Passaconaway 

wind  may  be  conveyed  by  a  statement  of  two  or  three 
facts.  Our  wash-basin,  which,  when  we  retired,  had 
been  left  on  an  empty  barrel  which  was  used  for  a 
wash-stand,  was  found  next  day  perhaps  twenty-five 
rods  from  its  starting-place,  and  it  evidently  had  col- 
lided with  a  tree  in  its  wild  midnight  flight.  A  canvas 
out-house,  frame  and  all,  was  lifted  bodily  into  the 
air  and  was  sailing  away  on  the  wings  of  the  storm, 
when  its  flight  was  arrested  by  "Uncle  Jim's"  hackma- 
tacks, some  fifteen  rods  from  where  it  had  been  orig- 
inally pegged  down.  Many  of  Mr.  Knowles'  cables,  by 
which  the  Chocorua  Peak  House  was  anchored, 
snapped  under  the  terrific  strain. 

No  more  "blow-downs"  for  us,  thank  you,  if  you 
please! 

The  Capture  of  Highwaymen 

It  was  during  the  summer  of  1912,  I  think,  that 
our  quiet  valley  was  startled  by  a  telephoned  warning 
that  some  highwaymen  were  on  their  way  up  from  Con- 
way  to  our  valley.  Rumors,  two  or  three  days  old, 
informed  us  that  an  aged  woman  had  been  held  up 
by  highwaymen.  It  was  thought  that  the  desperate 
criminals  were  now  fleeing  from  justice,  with  the  in- 
tention of  escaping  into  the  wilderness. 

About  fifteen  minutes  later  two  sheriffs  came  speed- 
ing up  the  road  in  an  automobile.  They  left  the  ma- 
chine at  the  Passaconaway  House  and  soon  were  lost 
to  sight  in  the  woods  back  of  our  cottage.  In  about 
half  an  hour  four  men  appeared  far  down  the  Mast 


A  Chapter  of  Adventures  253 

Road.  As  they  passed  our  cottage  we  could  see  the 
victims'  pallid  and  frightened  countenances.  They 
were  poorly  dressed  and  unkempt  in  appearance,  truly 
tough-looking  specimens  of  the  genus  homo. 

The  nearest  Justice  of  the  Peace,  at  that  time,  was 
located  at  the  lumber  store,  and  as  the  sheriffs  wished 
to  consult  him,  they  left  the  highwaymen  in  the  cus- 
tody of  a  prominent  citizen  of  the  valley.  The  three 
men,  prisoners  and  guard,  sat  on  the  hotel  porch  for 
over  an  hour;  the  prisoners,  humble,  mute,  frightened, 
and  apparently  penitent;  the  stern  guard,  rifle  in  hand, 
glowering,  and  ever  alert.  One  could  easily  see  that 
he  meant  business.  One  single  step  from  their  chairs 
and  the  prisoners  would  have  been  dead  men.  At 
length  the  officials  returned.  After  a  searching  inter- 
rogation the  prisoners  were  found  to  be  innocent  lum- 
berjacks who  had  been  peaceably  walking  up  the  rail- 
road from  Conway,  on  their  way  to  Camp  No.  5. 

A  Wild-cat  or  Panther  Scare 

Tuesday,  August  6,  1912,  was  an  exceptionally  clear 
day,  so  I  decided  to  give  my  Colorado  cousin  a  view 
of  the  valley  from  Allen's  Ledge,  on  Hedgehog.  In 
preference  to  striking  through  the  tangled  woods,  we 
decided  to  ascend  by  the  lumber-road  trail,  although 
it  is  nearly  twice  as  long.  At  the  old  camp  we  paused 
to  shoot  at  several  inviting  marks  about  the  place.  We 
had  gone  but  a  few  hundred  feet  beyond,  when,  di- 
rectly back  of  us,  from  the  road,  a  savage  and  power- 
ful cry  broke  the  silence  of  the  woods  and  brought  us 


254  Passaconaway 

up  with  a  start.  Sweat  started  out  on  our  brows  in 
great  drops.  We  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  more 
when  the  cry  was  again  repeated,  this  time  nearer  than 
before.  He  was  following  us !  Although  never  hav- 
ing heard  the  cry  before,  nevertheless  I  decided  in- 
stantly, from  the  hoarse,  snarling  "Mur-r-r-ow-w-w," 
that  it  came  from  a  wild-cat  or  a  panther.  It  had  all 
the  elements  of  a  house  cat's  snarling  cry,  yet  was  a 
hundred  times  as  terrifying. 

We  lost  no  time  in  gaining  the  foot  of  the  ledges. 
Every  forty  steps  we  took  we  were  greeted  with  this 
blood-curdling  and  hair-raising  cry.  No  matter  how 
fast  we  ran,  he  seemed  to  keep  the  same  distance  be- 
hind us.  At  the  foot  of  the  ledges  I  discharged  one 
of  my  three  remaining  birdshot-shells,  to  try  and  di- 
vert his  attention.  Then,  with  all  possible  haste,  we 
scrambled  up  to  the  topmost  ledge  and  lay  flat,  facing 
the  woods,  ready  for  the  onslaught.  With  our  bird- 
shot  we  could  at  best  only  blind  and  infuriate  him. 
Tales  of  wild-cat  ferocity  and  their  cruel  attacks  upon 
their  prey  ran  through  my  mind;  how  they  would 
spring  upon  one  and  with  their  fangs  throttle  him,  or 
with  their  hind  paws  disembowel  him.  All  these 
thoughts  chilled  my  blood  and  frightened  me  even 
more  than  his  steadily  approaching  scream. 

Now  the  cry  was  just  below  us!  "Where  will  it  be 
next?"  This  question  was  continually  in  our  minds  as 
we  lay  motionless  yet  anxious,  scanning  the  woods  be- 
low. Just  as  the  silence  around  us  began  to  be  almost 
audible,  this  ear-piercing  cry  would  rise  from  the  depths 
of  the  woods  and  echo  and  re-echo  from  the  surround- 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  255 

ing  hills.  Now  his  cry  was  right  at  the  very  spot  where 
I  had  fired.  The  next  few  minutes  were  literally  agon- 
izing for  us.  "Would  he  be  frightened  at  the  smell  of 
powder,  or  would  he  come  right  on  up  over  the 
ledges?"  At  last  the  spell  was  broken;  the  next  cry 
was  from  the  ridge.  He  had  smelt  the  freshly  burnt 
powder  and  was  making  off  over  the  ridge.  For  the 
next  fifteen  minutes  we  thankfully  listened  to  his  rapidly 
receding  cries,  until  finally  they  were  swallowed  up  in 
the  fastnesses  of  the  dark  forests  on  the  side  of  Mount 
Passaconaway. 

Probably  we  shall  never  know  just  what  the  animal's 
motive  was.  Some  natives  claim  that  he  was  merely 
calling  his  mate.  On  our  return  trip  we  could  easily 
trace  in  the  soft  mud  in  certain  spots,  paw-prints  as 
large  as  tea-cups  in  our  very  path.  The  strange  part 
is  that,  as  we  turned  from  one  branch  road  to  another, 
he  invariably  changed  his  course  correspondingly.  '  We 
were  thankful  to  emerge  from  the  great  cat's  jurisdic- 
tion without  coming  to  close  quarters  with  his  pussy- 
ship.  A  well  known  citizen  of  Conway  said,  on  look- 
ing at  the  stuffed  lynx  in  our  cottage,  "I  shouldn't 
want  such  gentlemen  to  camp  on  my  trail."  Although 
"all's  well  that  ends  well,"  my  cousin  and  I,  from 
personal  experience,  can  testify  that  it  isn't  pleasant  to 
have  "such  gentlemen  camp  on  one's  trail." 

Wanted— A  New  Noah! 

"Patter,  Patter,  Splash!"  I  rouse  myself  from 
sound  sleep  and  listen  to  the  gentle  sprinkling  on  the 


256  Passaconaway 

roof.  Is  there  any  music  like  the  patter  of  rain  on 
a  wooden  roof?  Outside  everything  is  pitch  dark.  It 
must  be  about  midnight.  Rapidly  the  rain  increases. 
Now  it  pours.  This  is  no  ordinary  shower.  Such 
sheets  of  rain  I  never  want  to  see  or  hear  again.  The 
torrent  beats  upon  our  frail  roof  as  if  it  would  batter 
it  in.  This  storm  will  be  remembered  in  our  Passacon- 
away valley  as  "the  1912  Cloud-burst." 

By  five  o'clock  next  morning  the  rain  ceased,  and, 
coming  down-stairs,  we  saw,  in  the  dim  light — for  the 
clouds  were  still  very  low  and  threatening — huge  pud- 
dles of  water,  in  places  a  foot  deep,  in  our  front  yard, 
garden  and  Mast  Road.  But  look  across  Mr.  Povall's 
hay-field !  There  is  a  silver  streak  foaming  by.  How 
the  Swift  over-leaps  its  banks  and  spreads  out  over  the 
fields!  The  little  river  must  have  risen  six  or  seven 
feet  since  sundown. 

After  breakfast,  the  sun  having  come  out  brightly, 
all  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley  turned  out  to  see 
the  unusual  sight.  In  the  Grove,  which  is  at  least  four 
or  five  feet  above  the  normal  water-level,  the  water 
was  knee-deep.  Mr.  Smith's  bridge  had  been  carried 
down-stream  and  was  now  wedged  between  tall  trees 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  The  river  was  running  like 
a  mill-race.  Muddy  water  stretched  and  surged  be- 
neath the  trees  and  bushes.  Huge  logs,  some  two  feet 
in  diameter,  rushed  down  on  the  current  like  race 
horses.  Whole  trees  swept  by,  now  and  then  striking 
the  bank  or  a  half-submerged  fence,  then  veering  off, 
or  swinging  round,  and  rushing  on.  These,  I  imag- 
ined, gave  the  appearance  of  crocodiles  or  derelicts  as 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  257 

their  ugly  forms  went  whirling  by.  At  the  junction  of 
the  Downes  with  the  Swift,  all  familiar  landmarks 
were  obliterated.  A  great  lake  reached  far  into  the 
woods  on  both  sides.  The  volume  of  the  combined 
streams  was  something  incredible  and  indescribable. 

The  lumberjacks,  in  their  camp  on  the  Downes, 
had  been  awakened  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
by  the  deafening  roar  of  logs  and  rocks  which  were 
swept  and  rolled  along  by  the  current.  The  men  rushed 
to  the  stable  and  liberated  the  frightened  horses.  Some 
of  the  poor  animals  were  standing  in  four  feet  of 
water.  (Lumbermen  seem  to  love  to  build  on  the 
very  edge  of  the  water.)  A  few  days  before  the  storm, 
a  wheezy  little  automobile  had  carried  a  party  of  berry- 
pickers  to  a  hillock  between  the  Downes  and  the  Swift, 
just  west  of  the  junction.  This  party  was  marooned 
for  two  or  three  days.  Two  of  the  hotel  people,  ardent 
photographers,  started  up  to  Sabbaday  Falls  for  the 
purpose  of  securing  one  of  the  wonderful  pictures  ob- 
tainable only  in  flood  time.  But  in  crossing  the  Sab- 
baday, in  water  which  came  to  their  waist,  one  of  them 
lost  his  footing.  Had  not  the  other  quickly  assisted 
him,  possibly  he  might  have  been  lost,  for  the  current 
on  that  day  was  so  strong  that  no  swimmer,  however 
powerful,  could  hope  to  breast  it. 

In  the  early  years  of  the  settlement  at  Conway,  every 
building  in  the  Saco  basin  was  carried  away  by  a  flood.2 
The  Swift  has  a  very  steep  pitch,  and  in  a  few  hours 
is  able  to  drain  off  the  enormous  quantity  of  water 
which  the  mountains  contribute  to  it.  Our  1912  flood 

'Merrill:  History  of  Carroll  County,  824-825. 


258  Passaconaway 

had  subsided  considerably  by  night  time.  By  noon,  in 
fact,  we  could  see  that  its  high-water  mark  had  been 
reached.  Within  a  couple  of  days  the  streams  were  of 
normal  size.  A  few  washouts,  undermined  banks  and 
misplaced  logs  constituted  practically  all  the  damage. 
Yet  the  flood  was  an  almost  terrifying  sight  during  the 
few  hours  it  was  at  its  height.  The  fields  back  of  the 
Passaconaway  House  were  one  broad  sheet  of  water, 
extending  up  to  the  ice-house.  At  one  time  we  thought 
that  we  might  be  called  upon  to  attempt  the  role  of  a 
new  Noah. 

Pine  Bend  Camp 

Far  up  the  Swift  River  Trail,  there  stood  a  tiny 
cabin  in  the  very  heart  of  the  great  wilderness.  This 
camp  was  built  of  logs,  chinked  with  mud.  Bunks  were 
built  against  the  walls.  The  owner  of  the  camp  was 
a  Conway  physician.  Many  are  the  stories  of  savage 
visitors  told  by  those  who  have  spent  the  night  in  this 
camp. 

Late  one  autumn  the  doctor  brought  some  friends 
up  for  a  week  end.  The  next  night,  I  think,  an  urgent 
telephone  message  came  to  the  hotel  for  the  doctor 
to  return  quickly  to  Conway.  The  night  was  starless 
and  pitch  dark,  and  the  camp  was  four  good  long  moun- 
tain miles  away.  The  path  lay  through  dense  un- 
frequented woods.  One  of  the  Smith  boys  set  out 
to  carry  the  message  to  the  physician.  Armed  only 
with  a  lantern,  he  started  out  at  a  brisk  pace.  The 
black  trees  and  bushes,  the  silent  and  dark  mountains, 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  259 

the  gurgling  Downes  Brook  and  murmuring  Swift 
River  made  the  night  a  lonely  one. 

Young  Smith  walked  on  in  the  biting  air,  now  with 
echoing  steps  passing  from  rock  to  rock  over  the  brook, 
and  soon  was  buried  in  the  darkness  of  the  thick 
woods.  Now  the  snap  of  a  twig  would  make  his  tense 
nerves  start;  now  a  rustling  bush  just  ahead,  just  out 
of  the  lantern  light,  would  tell  of  the  scurrying  away 
of  some  timid  creature.  The  sudden  hoot  of  an  owl 
so  startled  him  that  he  almost  dropped  his  lantern. 

But,  hark!  'Tis  not  an  owl  now.  Again,  again  and 
again,  only  about  half  a  mile  ahead,  sounds  a  long, 
loud  and  terrifying  cry,  something  like  the  cry  of  a 
woman.  The  cry  is  repeated,  louder  and  more  terrify- 
ing than  before.  With  beads  of  sweat  upon  his  fore- 
head, hair  standing  on  end,  hat — as  he  afterwards  ex- 
pressed it — "six  inches  above  his  head,"  the  stalwart 
youth  presses  forward.  Now  the  animal  is  but  a  few 
rods  ahead,  directly  in  the  path,  and  rapidly  approach- 
ing. The  lad  must  either  turn  back  with  message  un- 
delivered, or  press  on  and  perhaps  die  in  the  clutches 
of  the  horrible  animal.  Duty  requires  the  latter 
course.  With  the  fatalism  of  desperation,  he  reasons 
that  if  he  is  to  die,  die  he  will,  and  if  he  is  destined  to 
reach  his  destination  he  will  do  so ;  but  never  will  he 
turn  back!  As  if  in  a  dream  he  mechanically  presses 
on.  Eager  either  to  do  or  die,  he  becomes  impatient 
and  lopes  along.  Suddenly  his  progress  is  abruptly 
checked  by  a  powerful,  nerve-racking  shriek  out  of 
the  deathlike  silence  of  the  wood.  Only  a  few  yards 
ahead  the  beast  is  coming. 


260  Passaconaway 

And  now,  directly  in  the  path  in  front  of  the  boy,  a 
huge  shaggy  beast  appears,  twice  as  big  as  a  barrel. 
For  a  moment  the  approaching  bear  hesitates.  Straight 
at  the  light  he  looks.  The  valiant  boy,  all  unarmed, 
continues  to  press  on.  His  lantern  bobs  up  and  down. 
The  bear,  blinking  his  eyes,  half  rises  on  his  haunches, 
and  then,  with  a  swift  turn,  lumbers  off  towards  the 
south.  So  close  was  the  boy  to  the  bear  that  he  could 
have  cut  it  with  a  long-lashed  whip.  The  retreating 
brute  was  almost  instantly  lost  to  ear  and  eye.  When, 
a  few  minutes  later,  young  Smith  entered  the  camp,  he 
was  as  pale  as  a  sheet  and  drops  of  cold  sweat  stood 
on  his  forehead. 

Why  the  Chowder  Did  Not  Come  to  a  Boil 

The  Doctor  is  a  great  devotee  of  fishing  and  not 
infrequently  during  the  season  he  used  to  bring  friends 
up  to  his  little  Pine  Bend  camp.  On  one  such  trip,  sev- 
eral summers  ago,  the  campers  brought  up  milk,  salt, 
pepper,  butter,  onions,  pork,  and  crackers  to  have  a 
chowder.  The  trout  bit  voraciously  on  the  first  day, 
which  was  dark  and  misty,  with  low-hanging  clouds. 
Next  morning  proved  to  be  of  similar  character  and, 
if  anything,  more  "open  and  shut."  Well  knowing 
that  such  fishing  days  were  rare,  the  men  went  out 
again,  leaving  Mr.  Smith  to  cook  a  chowder. 

Shortly  after  their  departure  the  guide  took  the  pan 
of  fish  down  to  the  brook  to  clean  them.  Already  over 
fifty  had  been  cleaned  when  a  strong  mouse-like  odor 
permeated  the  air,  and  a  twig  snapped  between  the 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  261 

man  and  the  camp.  Looking  back,  Mr.  Smith  saw  a 
huge  black  bear,  not  four  rods  away,  coming  towards 
him  down  the  path  from  the  camp.  On  came  Bruin 
and  presently  he  rose  upon  his  haunches.  The  man 
had  no  weapon  except  his  jack-knife  and  the  pan  of 
fish.  My,  but  wasn't  that  black  bear  a  giant!  But 
the  guide  did  not  stop  to  welcome  or  measure  his  visi- 
tor. He  promptly  abandoned  fish  and  all  and  beat 
a  precipitous  retreat  across  the  brook.  Bruin  thank- 
fully accepted  the  guide's  hospitality,  and,  lowering 
himself  to  all  fours  again,  devoured  the  trout.  Then 
with  a  grunt  of  thanks,  or  satisfaction,  he  shuffled  off. 
Not  until  the  shaggy  guest  was  well  out  of  sight  did 
the  host  abandon  his  post  of  observation  from  which 
he  had  been  watching  the  "company  manners"  of  his 
visitor.  At  dark,  when  the  fishermen  returned  to  the 
log  cabin,  tired  and  hungry,  they  found  a  platter  of 
steaming  canned  baked  beans  awaiting  them  instead 
of  the  luscious  trout  chowder  which  they  had  expected. 
The  reason  the  chowder  had  not  boiled  was  that  the 
"cook  had  been  entertaining  a  caller." 

How  the  Deer  Helped  To  Harvest  Our  Crops 

We  had  been  considerably  troubled,  during  the  sum- 
mer of  ,  by  deer  coming  into  our  garden  and 

eating  the  tops  off  the  young  vegetables.  Every  morn- 
ing we  found  fresh  hoof-prints  and  could  see  where 
the  sweet  and  newly  sprouted  vegetables  had  been 
cropped  off  close  to  the  ground. 

Father  and  I  decided  to  watch,  in  four-hour  watches, 


262  Passaconaway 

for  the  deer  through  an  open  window  just  under  our 
porch  roof.  As  night  drew  near  we  made  our  neces- 
sary arrangements  and  I  prepared  for  bed.  At  pre- 
cisely midnight  I  was  aroused  and  notified  (much 
against  my  inclination)  that  my  watch  was  to  begin. 
So  far  all  had  been  quiet.  Wrapping  up  as  warmly 
as  possible,  with  "Old  Jack's"  rifle  lying  across  my 
knee,  and  with  field  glasses  at  my  side,  I  waited  and 
waited  and  waited.  Just  as  I  was  beginning  to  get 
sleepy  I  heard  a  snip,  snip,  snip,  and  a  sniff  or  two. 
It  sounded  much  like  a  person  trimming  a  tender  hedge 
with  a  pair  of  shears.  Then  followed  a  ripping  and 
tearing.  Then  again  snip,  snip.  The  stars  were  out, 
but  a  thin  layer  of  fog  rested  over  the  intervale  and 
garden.  Shivering  and  intensely  excited,  I  peered  into 
the  fog,  but  although  the  deer  was  only  fifty  feet  away 
(as  was  shown  by  his  tracks  next  morning)  I  couldn't 
see  a  thing.  It  was  weird,  ghostly;  the  snip,  snipping, 
now  a  step  or  two,  now  a  sniff,  and  then  some  more 
snip,  snip.  At  last  I  raised  the  field  glasses  to  my 
eyes  and  there  before  me  I  saw,  not  the  deer,  but  the 
white  belly,  white  neck,  and  his  white  flag,  nervously 
swishing  and  whisking,  first  this  side  and  then  that.  I 
put  aside  my  glasses  and  leveled  the  rifle,  but  it  was 
no  use.  The  phantom  had  vanished,  though  I  could 
hear  the  continued  snip,  snipping  close  at  hand.  At 
length,  abandoning  all  thought  of  trying  to  injure  the 
beautiful  creature,  I  decided  to  watch  his  every  move- 
ment through  the  glasses.  Try  as  I  might,  I  could 
not,  save  in  my  imagination,  make  out  his  entire  out- 
line. All  I  could  see  was  the  "white  lining  of  his  coat." 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  263 

This  kept  up  until  a  rooster,  over  at  the  hotel,  crowed; 
and  then  my  wild  friend,  my  guest  and  companion  for 
half  a  night,  stealthily  worked  his  way  towards  the 
road.  Suddenly  the  morning  light  began  to  shine 
through  the  fog  and  I  was  able  to  see  clearly  the  form 
of  a  large  buck,  with  head  erect,  leisurely  sauntering 
down  the  road  towards  the  Hill  Farm.  As  soon  as 
the  sun  came  up  I  went  out  into  the  garden  and  saw 
where  he  had  tracked  up  and  down  several  times  in 
each  row.  He  had  taken  away  every  young  sprout. 
But  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if  he  enjoyed  our 
vegetables  as  much  as  he  appeared  to,  he  was  quite 
welcome  to  them,  for  we  couldn't  possibly  get  as  much 
enjoyment  out  of  them  as  he  was  getting.  He  came 
every  night  all  the  rest  of  the  summer,  making  his  ap- 
pearance between  one  and  two  in  the  morning.  And 
sometimes  the  hoof-prints  would  show  that  a  doe  and 
little  fawn  also  had  been  helping  to  harvest  our  crops. 

Forest  Fires 

One  thing  seems  to  pursue  lumbering  operations  as 
closely  and  as  inevitably  as  a  cloud  of  dust  follows  a 
speeding  automobile,  and  that  is  a  forest  fire ;  and  a 
forest  fire  can  cause  plenty  of  destruction  and  excite- 
ment. 

The  first  real  forest  fire  I  ever  saw,  and  then  only 
from  a  distance,  was  when  I  was  perhaps  ten  years 
old.  The  sky  became  dirty  and  mud  colored,  and  so 
heavily  laden  with  smoke  was  the  air  that  breathing  be- 
came somewhat  difficult.  Next  morning  the  sun  was 


264  Passaconaway 

blood-red  and  appeared  as  it  does  when  viewed  through 
smoked  glass.  With  increasing  fury  the  fire  raged 
for  days,  about  fifteen  miles  north  of  us.  At  night 
there  was  a  pink  glow,  stretching  for  miles  just 
over  Green's  Cliff  and  Carrigain.  Sometimes  it  would 
brighten  up  considerably,  then,  after  a  short  time,  die 
down  to  its  usual  steady  glow.  This  may  have  been 
caused  by  the  flames  rushing  up  a  strip  of  white  birches, 
which  burn  furiously  for  a  short  time.  The  last  few 
days  of  our  vacation,  large  black  cinders,  some  of  them 
several  inches  in  length,  floated  over  our  valley,  and 
we  children  delighted  in  chasing  and  catching  some  of 
the  lowest  ones.  Upon  the  day  we  left  the  air  was 
fearfully  smoky,  the  north  wind  wafting  mammoth 
rolls  of  smoke  across  our  valley,  and  it  was  with  some 
anxiety  for  our  little  cottage  that  we  returned  to  the 
city.  Later  we  learned  of  the  devastation  wrought. 

I  recall  the  exciting  summer  of  1912.  On  June  thir- 
tieth of  that  year  an  ugly  looking  cloud  of  smoke  ap- 
peared just  the  other  side  of  Bartlett  Haystack  and 
Tremont.  An  hour  later  Chief  Povall  was  running 
his  automobile  at  breakneck  speed,  carrying  Wardens 
Howe  and  Brewster  over  to  Rocky  Branch,  all  three 
having  been  summoned.  They  returned  a  little  after 
dark  and  reported  the  fire  well  in  hand. 

Friday  noon,  July  27,  while  drawing  water  for  din- 
ner, I  noticed  a  thread  of  smoke  curling  up  from  the 
notch  between  Paugus,  Hedgehog  and  Passaconaway. 
Thinking  it  to  be  from  a  camp-fire,  I  dismissed  it  from 
my  mind.  After  dinner,  chancing  to  look  again,  I 
saw  a  column  of  white,  brown,  red,  and  black  smoke 


A  Chapter  of  Adventures  265 

rising,  now  of  ominous  size.  No  camp-fire  was  it,  we 
knew  now!  Larger  and  larger  it  grew,  spreading  in 
all  directions.  There  was  a  gentle  breeze  blowing  from 
the  northwest,  so  that  we  were  able  to  trace  its  rapid 
progress  unmolested  by  smoke.  Telephone  calls  flew 
back  and  forth,  and  from  the  hotel  the  news  came  that 
several  of  the  Passaconaway  men  were  on  their  way 
to  aid  Fred  Howe,  the  Lumber  Company's  energetic 
young  fire  warden.  Thinking  ourselves  not  actually 
needed,  but  a  little  uneasy  lest  the  wind  should  swing 
around  to  the  south  and  send  the  fire  roaring  through 
the  hackmatacks  like  an  express  train  in  uncomfortable 
proximity  to  our  house,  we  thought  it  best  to  improve 
the  time.  Therefore,  armed  with  bush-  and  grass- 
scythes,  we  cut  down  and  burned  all  the  bushes  and 
grass  for  some  distance  around  the  cottage.  • 

Later  in  the  afternoon  several  of  us  walked  down 
to  Mrs.  Colbath's — the  old  post  office — where  we 
sat  on  the  high  bank  and  looked  down  the  gorge 
through  which  the  Mast  Road  passes.  A  cloud  of 
thick  white  smoke  hovered  over  the  center  of  the  con- 
flagration and  large  tributary  curls  could  be  seen  twist- 
ing up  from  dozens  of  places.  Here  and  there  a  curl 
would  die  out,  as  if  the  men  had  subdued  it,  but  in  gen- 
eral those  columns  seemed  to  grow  larger,  thicker  and 
more  numerous.  Down  in  that  hot  valley,  the  Passa- 
conaway men,  only  a  mere  handful,  were  bravely  work- 
ing. But  at  the  time  we  knew  it  not.  Considerable 
relief  came  to  the  little  group  of  anxious  watchers 
when  the  report  came  from  the  store  that  a  train  full 
of  French  Canadians  was  on  its  way  up  from  Conway. 


266  Passaconaway 

Long  after  the  lumberjacks  were  supposed  to  ar- 
rive the  fire  continued  to  spread  with  alarming  rapidity. 
While  all  of  us  were  gathered  at  the  hotel  in  the  even- 
ing, gazing  upon  the  fascinating  sight,  an  excited  voice 
from  the  store  'phoned  to  Chief  Povall,  saying  that 
all  the  male  citizens  of  Passaconaway  were  wanted  at 
the  fire  at  daylight. 

At  half-past  three,  in  the  cold  dim  light,  my  father 
and  I  arose.  After  breakfasting  on  fried  ham  and 
coffee,  we  took  rations,  canteens  and  hatchets  and  set 
out  Down  to  the  now  lonely  little  Jack  Allen  camp — 
for  the  old  guide  had  been  buried  only  the  previous 
Monday — we  tramped.  Here  we  turned  sharply 
southward  into  the  woods,  taking  the  main  tote- 
road.  While  making  this  change  in  our  course 
we  noticed  that  the  dense  fog  had  already  begun  to 
lift.  About  half  a  mile  more  and  it  had  all  disap- 
peared. My,  but  didn't  the  morning  air  smell  smoky ! 
Just  ahead  was  a  cloud  of  smoke  which  hung  low 
and  thick  in  the  damp  atmosphere.  Suddenly  we  came 
upon  a  long  rustic  table  by  the  roadside,  with  a 
"cookee"  clearing  away  and  washing  some  greasy  tin 
dishes.  The  men  had  just  eaten  breakfast. 

How  smoky  everything  about  us  seemed!  Directly 
ahead  there  was  a  sharp  turn  in  the  rough  road.  Upon 
rounding  it  a  scene  of  devastation  unfolded  itself  be- 
fore us.  The  smoldering  logs  and  charred  trees  even 
then,  when  fanned  by  the  wind,  glowed  and  smoked.  A 
gentle  gust  turned  an  apparently  dead  stump  into  a  bed 
of  live  coals,  from  which  a  tongue  of  flame  shot  six 
feet  into  the  air.  We  heard  a  rustling  and  snapping 


A  Chapter  of  Adventures  267 

almost  above  us;  it  was  a  blazing  clump  of  little  pop- 
lars, which  until  now  somehow  had  escaped  the  flames. 
Now,  however,  this  isolated  little  clump,  an  oasis  in  the 
black  desert,  was  roaring  and  blazing.  Crash!  Down 
came  some  of  the  outer  ones,  now  some  more,  and  at 
length  the  remainder,  with  undermined  and  fire- 
gnawed  roots,  thundered  to  the  ground,  falling  almost 
across  the  road  a  few  feet  ahead.  On  all  sides  were 
hundreds  of  charred  upright  shafts,  the  remains  of 
formerly  valuable  trees,  while  prostrate  on  the  ashy 
turf  were  many  hundreds  more,  smoldering  and  smok- 
ing. Many  had  been  felled  to  keep  the  fire  from  the 
tree  tops  but  many  more  had  fallen  victim  to  the 
carelessness  of  campers.  Here  and  there  a  fallen  trunk 
was  roaring  furiously,  as  the  wind  drew  through  its 
hollow  shell,  and  a  tongue  of  flame  might  be  seen  blaz- 
ing out  from  its  leeward  end.  The  hollow  inside  was 
a  mass  of  flame  and  as  hot  as  a  blast  furnace. 

A  rattling  and  clanking  announced  the  approach  of 
the  fire-fighters.  Standing  majestically  in  the  center 
of  the  ruin,  upon  a  little  eminence  ahead,  was  Mr. 
Schoppe,  the  superintendent  of  the  camps,  a  noted  fire- 
fighter. Just  over  the  brow  of  this  ridge  he  pointed  out 
to  us  a  long  line  of  "Frenchmen,"  each  armed  with  a 
shovel,  advancing  in  a  stooping  posture.  They  were 
digging  a  trench  around  the  inside  of  the  ring  of  fire, 
one  having  already  been  dug  around  the  outside.  These 
trenches  were  as  wide  as  the  width  of  a  shovel,  and  a 
few  inches  deep.  Gradually  the  workmen  approached 
us,  leaving  a  fresh  trench  in  their  wake,  as  a  spider 
spins  his  thread.  The  first  man  in  the  line  broke  the 


268  Passaconaway 

turf,  the  second  loosened  it,  the  third  shoveled  it  off, 
and  the  succeeding  ones  each  threw  out  a  small  shovel- 
ful at  every  step  they  took.  By  this  method  a  trench 
was  dug  in  a  remarkably  short  time. 

As  the  fire  was  well  under  control  our  services  were 
not  needed,  but  we  were  extremely  interested  in  study- 
ing the  situation.  On  the  extreme  left,  several  smoky- 
faced  boulders  and  a  musical  gurgling  at  their  base  an- 
nounced a  brook.  Between  the  black  boulders  and 
ashy  dirt  ran  a  little  "smutty-faced"  rill,  bearing  ashes, 
black  twigs  and  soaked  cinders.  Down  by  this  brook 
we  found  the  only  Passaconaway  man,  the  others  hav- 
ing wearily  trudged  home  as  soon  as  the  Frenchmen 
arrived — Fred  Howe,  who  had  just  returned  from  a 
couple  of  hours'  sleep.  He  was  directing  a  gang  of 
men  with  buckets  of  water.  They  were  dashing  it  on 
a  spot  where  the  fire  had  crossed  the  trench.  Others 
were  returning  from  different  quarters  to  be  directed 
to  blazing  stumps  or  logs  after  re-filling  their  pails. 

Lumberjacks  kept  arriving  all  the  time;  evidently  all 
the  camps  had  been  ordered  to  send  their  men  here 
on  foot.  I  should  judge  that  before  we  left  there 
were  nearly  two  hundred.  After  thoroughly  exploring 
the  battlefield  from  end  to  end,  we  retraced  our  steps 
and  arrived  home  before  noon. 

The  fire,  although  it  was  now  only  a  turf-fire,  was 
not  completely  extinguished  until  a  week  later,  when 
a  hard  shower  thoroughly  drenched  out  the  last  smoul- 
dering spark.  It  seems  that  the  night  before  the  fire 
broke  out,  two  young  Princeton  University  lads  had 
left  our  valley  and  passed  over  this  trail.  It  is  thought 


A  Chapter  of  Adventures  269 

that  their  imperfectly  extinguished  camp-fire  probably 
was  the  cause  of  the  conflagration. 

On  Saturday,  August  16,  1913,  a  cloud  of  smoke 
rising  from  the  western  side  of  Kancamagus  completely 
blotted  out  that  mountain.  Later,  the  papers  stated 
that  a  fire  over  in  North  Woodstock,  on  the  opposite 
side  of  Kancamagus  from  us,  had  raged  through  the 
heart  of  that  town. 

Last  summer,  just  before  we  arrived,  the  north- 
ern side  of  Bald  and  the  eastern  end  of  Paugus  were 
swept  by  flames.  We  were  told  that  this  was  very 
beautiful  to  look  at,  but  it  cost  the  little  town  several 
thousand  dollars  before  it  was  extinguished,  and  raised 
the  tax-rate  noticeably.  Although  blueberry  bushes 
usually  spring  up  where  a  forest-fire  has  raged,  the 
cultivation  of  blueberries  by  starting  forest-fires  would 
be  about  as  economical  as  burning  down  one's  house 
to  roast  one's  dinner,  as  in  Charles  Lamb's  famous 
"Dissertation  Upon  Roast  Pig." 

The  Siege  of  Wolves 

Let  me  close  this  chapter  of  adventures  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  famous  siege  of  wolves  which  took  place 
in  1830.  Although  the  battle  took  place  in  Tam- 
worth,  nevertheless  it  was  from  our  mountains  that 
the  wolves  descended  upon  that  town,  and  to  our  moun- 
tain fastnesses  the  surviving  wolves  retreated  after 
the  battle. 

All  this  region,  during  the  first  third  of  the  nine- 
teenth century,  abounded  in  moose,  deer,  bears,  wolves, 


270  Passaconaway 

and  perhaps  panthers.  On  the  evening  of  Nov.  14 
couriers  rode  furiously  through  Tamworth  and  the 
surrounding  towns,  proclaiming  that  "countless  num- 
bers" of  wolves  had  come  down  from  the  Sandwich 
Range  mountains  and  had  established  themselves  in 
the  woods  on  Marston  Hill.  All  able-bodied  males, 
from  ten  years  old  to  eighty,  were  therefore  summoned 
to  report  at  Marston  Hill  by  daylight  on  the  following 
morning. 

Marston  Hill  was  crowned  by  about  twenty  acres 
of  woods,  entirely  surrounded  by  cleared  land.  Senti- 
nels were  posted  around  the  hill  and  numerous  fires 
were  lighted  to  prevent  the  wolves  from  effecting  a 
return  to  the  mountains.  All  through  the  night  a 
continuous  and  hideous  howling  was  kept  up  by  the 
besieged  wolves  and  answering  howls  came  from  the 
slopes  of  the  great  mountains.  The  shivering  besieg- 
ers were  regaled  with  food  and  hot  coffee  furnished 
by  the  women  of  the  country-side  throughout  their  long 
lonely  watch. 

All  night  long  reinforcements  kept  arriving.  By 
daylight  there  were  six  hundred  men  and  boys  on  the 
scene,  armed  with  rifles,  shotguns,  pitchforks  and  clubs. 
A  council  of  war  was  held  and  a  plan  of  campaign 
agreed  upon.  General  Quimby,  of  Sandwich,  a  war- 
seasoned  veteran,  was  made  commander-in-chief.  The 
general  immediately  detailed  a  thin  line  of  sharpshoot- 
ers to  surround  the  hill,  while  the  main  body  formed 
a  strong  line  ten  paces  in  the  rear  of  the  skirmishers. 
The  sharpshooters  then  were  commanded  to  advance 
towards  the  center,  that  is,  towards  the  top  of  the  hill. 


A   Chapter  of  Adventures  271 

The  firing  began.  The  reports  of  the  rifles  and  the 
unearthly  howling  of  wolves  made  the  welkin  ring. 
The  beleaguered  animals,  frenzied  by  the  ring  of  flame 
and  noise,  and  perhaps  by  wounds,  made  repeated  at- 
tempts to  break  through  "the  thin  red  line,"  but  all 
in  vain.  They  were  driven  back  into  the  woods,  where 
they  unceasingly  continued  running,  making  it  difficult 
for  the  marksmen  to  hit  them.  In  about  an  hour  the 
order  was  given  for  the  main  line  to  advance,  which 
was  done. 

Closing  in  on  the  center,  the  circular  battle-line  at 
last  massed  itself  in  a  solid  body  on  the  hilltop,  where, 
for  the  first  time  in  sixteen  hours,  the  troops  raised 
their  voices  above  a  whisper,  bursting  out  into  wild 
hurrahs  of  victory.  Joseph  Oilman  records  that  few 
of  the  besieged  wolves  escaped.  But  the  historian  of 
Carroll  County  maintains  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
frantic  animals  broke  through  the  line  of  battle  and 
escaped  to  the  mountains  whence  they  had  come.  Re- 
turning to  the  great  rock  on  which  the  commander-in- 
chief  had  established  headquarters,  the  victorious  war- 
riors laid  their  trophies  at  the  feet  of  their  leader — 
four  immense  wolves — and  once  more  gave  thrice  three 
thundering  cheers. 

The  little  army  then  formed  column,  with  the  gen- 
eral, in  a  barouche,  at  its  head.  In  the  barouche  also 
reposed  the  bodies  of  the  slain  wolves.  After  a  rapid 
march  of  thirty-five  minutes,  the  triumphant  volun- 
teers entered  the  village  and  formed  a  hollow  square 
in  front  of  the  hotel,  the  general,  mounted  on  the  top 
of  his  barouche,  being  in  the  center  of  the  square. 


272  Passaconaway 

What  a  cheering  and  waving  of  handkerchiefs  by 
the  ladies,  in  windows  and  on  balconies,  there  was! 
General  Quimby  then  made  a  speech  befitting  the  oc- 
casion, after  which  the  thirsty  soldiers  stampeded  to 
the  bar  to  assuage  the  awful  thirst  engendered  by 
twenty  mortal  hours  of  abstinence  and  warfare.3 

3  See  Joseph  Oilman's  article  in  the  Boston  Transcript  in  the  early 
eighteen-thirties ;  Granite  State  Magazine,  vol.  IV,  160-3;  Merrill: 
Hist,  of  Carroll  County,  735;  Osgood:  White  Mts.,  346;  etc. 


CHAPTER  XV 

OLD   JACK,   GUIDE  AND  TRAPPER  OF  THE  WHITE 
MOUNTAINS 

ONE  moonlight  night  in  late  October  some  weary 
hunters  are  trudging  up  the  road,  near  the  foot 
of  the  Chocorua  Trail.  The  air  is  sharp,  the  breeze 
penetrating,  and  the  steepled  firs  stand  out  in  inky 
blackness  against  the  sky,  while  the  great  silver  moon 
causes  the  frosty  road  to  sparkle.  To-morrow  they 
will  be  in  the  Promised  Land  of  hunters,  and,  perhaps, 
by  another  night  they  already  will  have  brought  down 
a  deer.  The  thought  of  it  somewhat  revives  their 
spirits  in  spite  of  cold,  hunger,  and  fatigue. 

A  moonlit  clearing  opens  before  them,  and  the  pale 
rays,  falling  aslant  the  few  deserted  buildings,  gives 
the  little  cluster  of  houses  a  ghostly  appearance.  But 
on  the  right,  in  the  French-roofed  house,  they  will  find 
a  boon  companion.  Here  they  will  spend  the  hours 
till  dawn,  in  warmth  and  comfort. 

Upon  the  front  door  one  of  the  hunters  raps  loud 
and  long.  But  not  a  stir  within.  The  old  man  is  a 
sound  sleeper  and  hard  of  hearing.  He  is  at  home, 
however,  because  a  thin  curl  of  smoke  lazily  ascends 
from  the  chimney.  In  desperation  one  of  the  youths 
mounts  the  porch  roof,  and,  with  the  handle  of  his 
273 


274  Passaconaway 

belt-ax,  beats  a  sharp  tattoo  on  the  wall.  This  per- 
formance is  kept  up  for  at  least  fifteen  minutes  until, 
after  a  series  of  unusually  lusty  blows,  a  voice  from 
within  calls:  "Here!  Here!  Boys!  Don't  make  so 
much  noise.  I  heard  you  the  first  time." 

The  veteran  guide  always  makes  it  a  point  to  exact 
from  others  due  respect  for  his  age  and  white  hair,  so 
on  this  occasion  he  takes  his  time  about  getting  up  and 
unlocking  the  door.  "Squeak,"  goes  the  bolt,  and  the 
hardy  old  guide  welcomes  the  hunters.  Cordially  he 
bids  them  "set  close  to  the  stove."  Birch  bark  is  stuffed 
in  among  the  embers  and  soon  the  stove  takes  on  a 
decidedly  pinkish  hue,  while  the  venerable  host  places 
the  coffee-pot  on  the  stove  and  stows  away  the  baggage 
of  his  uninvited  guests. 

Soon  the  room  glows  with  warmth  and  the  now 
jovial  boys  are  waiting  with  whetted  appetites  for 
the  goodies  which  Jack  Allen  is  cooking  for  them. 
The  hungry  trampers  fall  to,  and  Old  Jack  is  kept 
busy  re-filling  two  spiders  again  and  again,  while  he 
cheerily  calls  out  from  time  to  time,  "Eat  all  you  want, 
boys,  there's  plenty  more" ;  which  invitation  does  not 
go  unheeded.  At  length  he  cannot  force  any  more 
food  upon  them.  Tilting  back  their  chairs,  the  guests 
tell  the  veteran  hunter  of  their  proposed  trip  and  he 
reciprocates  by  reeling  off  a  score  of  yarns  concerning 
bears  and  other  wild  animals.  Then  "good  night"  for 
a  few  hours'  sleep.  Light  streaks  presently  appear 
in  the  east  and  the  sky  begins  to  display  a  ruddy  glow. 
Soon  Old  Sol  creeps  over  the  rocky  domes  of  the  moun- 
tains. If  they  wish  to  camp  at  a  certain  place  the  next 


Old  Jack,   Guide  and  Trapper  275 

night  the  boys  must  start.  Shouldering  their  packs, 
they  thank  their  host  and  wend  their  way  up  the 
road. 

A  surprise  is  in  store  for  the  trampers,  however, 
for  they  have  not  gone  more  than  a  mile  up  the  road 
when  one,  by  chance,  feeling  in  his  haversack,  finds  it 
nearly  empty.  Examination  reveals  that  of  the  three 
dozen  eggs  with  which  they  started,  only  six  remain. 
By  counting  up  the  number  each  has  eaten,  it  is  found 
that  Old  Jack,  who  so  hospitably  urged  them  to  eat 
heartily,  has  served  them  fiheir  own  rations. 

Such  was  Jack  Allen — a  bluff,  hearty,  jovial,  fun- 
loving  old  man.  In  stature  he  was  somewhat  above 
medium  height,  square-shouldered  and  of  powerful 
frame.  His  most  striking  feature  was  his  flashing  eye, 
coal-black,  piercing  and  at  times  blazing  with  his  fiery 
spirit;  none  but  an  unusual  person  could  possess  such 
an  eye.  When  narrating  his  war  experiences  or  remi- 
niscences of  the  trail,  his  eyes  would  flash  and  dance 
as  if  he  were  fighting  his  battles  over  again.  "Men- 
tally, morally,  and  physically,  he  was  the  embodiment 
of  rugged  strength,  yet  he  had  a  warm  heart  and  gen- 
erous impulses  which  endeared  him  to  his  friends.  Not 
only  was  he  admired  and  respected,  but  deeply  loved."  * 
Jack  possessed  a  keen  sense  of  humor  and  a  fertile 
imagination  which,  coupled  with  a  willingness  to  tell 
stories  and  a  forceful  way  of  relating  them,  made  him 
an  interesting  companion. 

Our  hero,  whose  real  name  was  not  Jack,  but  James, 
first  saw  daylight  in  Sebec,  Maine,  in  1835.  He  served 

1  North  Conway  Reporter,  August  i,   1912,  written  by  C.  E.  Beals. 


276  Passaconaway 

during  the  Civil  War,  followed  the  sea  for  over  eight 
years,  and,  during  the  last  forty  years  of  his  life,  cast 
in  his  lot  with  the  dwellers  in  the  Albany  Intervale. 
For  several  years  he  lived  a  hermit  life  on  Bear  Moun- 
tain. He  looked  after  George  B.  James'  timber  lands 
and  served  Mr.  James'  successor  in  a  similar  capacity. 
During  the  last  few  years  of  his  life  he  was  in  the 
employ  of  A.  C.  Kennett,  who  generously  provided 
a  nominal  and  congenial  position  for  the  old  man. 

The  foregoing  is  but  the  bare  outline  of  a  varied 
and  strenuous  career,  which  I  shall  endeavor  to  unfold 
by  narrating  in  detail  a  few  of  its  principal  events. 
These  incidents  are  almost  without  exception  taken 
from  the  lips  of  the  guide  himself.  In  order  that 
the  other  chapters  of  this  book  may  be  taken  seriously, 
I  must  waive  all  responsibility  for  the  truthfulness  of 
these  tales,  but  residents  of  the  valley  and  other 
acquaintances  of  the  old  man  can  testify  that  these 
things  are  set  down  much  as  the  veteran  guide  himself 
narrated  them. 

"Curly  Jack" — as  he  was  called  in  his  younger  days 
— grew  up  to  be  a  youth  of  powerful  physique,  widely 
famed  for  his  strength  and  endurance;  he  became  an 
ardent  lover  of  boxing,  wrestling,  and  other  red- 
blooded  recreations  of  the  farm  and  lumber-camp. 
Often  he  modestly  testified:  "When  I  was  young,  I 
was  considered  the  stoutest  and  best-looking  man  that 
ever  stepped  into  the  State  of  Maine." 

His  first  really  exciting  experience  came  when,  as 
a  lad  in  his  teens,  he  went  to  a  county  fair  in  New 
Hampshire.  These  fairs  have  been  described  in  song 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  'Trapper  277 

and  story.  All  the  people  for  forty  miles  around  turn 
out  on  these  holiday  occasions.  Such  an  one  was  this. 
Here  and  there  a  lad,  or  a  group  of  boys,  would  be 
performing  feats  of  strength  before  admiring  lassies. 
Curly  Jack  was  wending  his  way  in  and  out  among 
the  chattering  groups  when  a  boastful  voice  fell  upon 
his  ear.  Its  owner  was  a  young  giant,  looming  up 
well  over  six  feet,  who  was  narrating  his  accomplish- 
ments to  a  bevy  of  beaming  girls.  Young  Allen 
thought  he  would  take  a  reef  in  the  sails  of  this  lago. 
Stepping  up  to  the  giant,  he  requested  him  to  confine 
his  conversation  to  the  acre  on  which  he  stood  and 
not,  with  his  sonorous  voice,  disturb  people  in  the 
neighboring  fields.  Little  heed  did  the  tall  one  pay  to 
this  unasked-for  advice.  Twice  more  the  huge  man 
was  addressed,  but  the  massive  human  mountain  noted 
not  young  Allen's  words.  Considerably  irritated,  Jack 
thereupon  poked  him  in  the  ribs  and  in  no  uncertain 
tones  requested  him  to  "Shut  up!"  but  the  big  boy 
rattled  on  "all  the  smarter."  "I  hit  him  acrost  the 
head  hard  enough  to  knock  down  a  seven-foot  ox," 
said  Curly  Jack,  in  telling  the  story,  "and  it  never 
even  jarred  him.  Looking  on  me  as  on  a  toad,  he 
said,  'Young  man,  if  you'd  hurt  me  I'd  have  cuffed  your 
ears.'  "  The  baffled  youngster  slunk  away,  and  ever 
after  told  this  only  in  tones  of  the  greatest  respect  for 
his  pacific  opponent. 

Many  of  the  young  men  of  northern  New  England 
and  the  Provinces  go  into  lumber-camps  during  the 
winter.  Numerous  were  Jack's  stories  of  logging  on 
the  River  Saint  John,  two  of  which  I  will  recount. 


278  Passaconaway 

While  many  of  the  stories  of  his  experiences  seem  quite 
improbable,  others  equally  so  are  known  to  be  true. 
Hence,  in  the  following  yarns  there  may  perhaps  be 
a  grain  of  truth  in  a  bushel  of  fiction. 

One  winter  the  lumbermen  moved  into  a  new  camp, 
leaving  many  of  their  spare  tools  at  the  old  one.  The 
cabin  was  steaming  hot,  but  outside  the  wind  whistled 
and  roared,  and  the  mercury  was  steadily  falling.  Sup- 
per over,  the  boys  were  lounging  around  when  the 
door  opened  and  the  boss  stepped  in.  "Boys,"  said 
he,  "we've  got  to  use  them  big  chains  to-morrow,  so 
one  or  two  of  you  must  go  fetch  them."  The  camp 
was  eight  miles  below  and  wolves  had  been  in  evi- 
dence recently.  The  lumberjacks,  however,  did  not 
volunteer  all  at  once;  on  the  contrary,  silence  reigned 
supreme!  Then  up  jumped  Curly  Jack,  who,  with 
skates  in  hand  and  clad  in  sheep-skin  coat,  departed. 
A  thankful  sigh  of  relief  rippled  around  the  room. 

The  keen  wind  cut  the  skater's  bronzed  face  like 
a  knife.  His  powerful  strokes  soon  carried  him  to  the 
center  of  the  moonlit  ice  sheet.  At  times,  however, 
an  ugly  wind-cloud  concealed  the  goddess  of  night, 
making  Jack's  progress  more  difficult.  Bend  after 
bend  in  the  river  rolled  by.  At  times  a  promontory  of 
fir  and  spruce  would  shelter  him;  at  others  the  wind, 
sweeping  for  a  mile  across  the  ice  sheet,  would  beat 
against  his  breast,  holding  him  back.  Onward  he 
plowed  and  at  length  the  spooky  outlines  of  the 
moonlit  camps  were  seen.  Arriving  at  his  destination, 
the  young  lumberman  sat  down  to  rest  a  moment  be- 
fore starting  on  the  return  trip.  Going  back,  he  would 


Old  Jack,   Guide  and  Trapper  279 

have  the  wind  at  his  back  to  help  push  him. 

He  found  the  chains,  which  weighed  fifty  pounds 
each,  and  returned  to  the  ice,  where,  with  benumbed 
fingers,  he  put  on  his  skates  again.  Shouldering  his 
half  dozen  chains  (of  course  a  load  of  three  hundred 
pounds  was  a  mere  nothing  to  a  Hercules  like  Curly 
Jack),  he  struck  out  for  home.  Not  more  than  two 
miles  had  been  reeled  off  when  a  sound  like  the  voice 
of  a  distant  demon  was  heard  above  the  clinking  and 
crunch  of  his  speeding  skate-runners.  Again,  but  more 
distinctly  now,  the  sound  fell  upon  his  muffled  ears. 
This  time  he  clearly  recognized  it  as  the  howling  of 
wolves.  Glancing  over  his  shoulder,  Jack  saw  his 
hungry  pursuers  about  a  mile  behind  him.  At  this 
particular  point  the  river  was  exceedingly  wide,  and 
as  far  back  as  he  could  see  the  ice  was  black  with  a 
tossing,  heaving,  on-rushing  wolf-pack. 

It  was  a  sight  to  make  an  ordinary  man's  blood  run 
cold.  Not  so  with  Curly  Jack,  however.  Pulling  his 
cap  down  tighter  and  clutching  his  chains  with  a  vise- 
like  grip,  he  simply  "lengthened  his  throw"  and  flew 
on  the  faster.  Now  and  then  dismal  howls  were 
wafted  down  the  wind  to  his  ears,  but  he  only  skated 
the  faster,  until,  with  a  final  burst  of  speed,  he  skated 
up  to  the  camp  and,  without  stopping  to  remove  his 
skates,  plunged  through  the  welcome  door. 

Ever  an  ardent  lover  of  quiet  and  solitude — con- 
sidering himself  about  the  best  company  to  be  had — 
Jack  erected  a  little  hut  on  the  bank  of  the  River  Saint 
John  and  spent  a  winter  here  in  preference  to  living 
in  the  lumber-camp.  One  night,  while  enjoying  the 


280  Passaconaway 

congenial  society  of  his  corn-cob  and  the  red-hot  stove, 
a  wolf  howl  suddenly  broke  in  upon  his  reveries.  Again 
the  howl  was  repeated;  now  two,  three,  and  presently  a 
score  of  tawny,  white-fanged  wolves  had  congregated 
outside  his  tiny  cabin.  The  tall  forests  echoed  and  re- 
echoed with  weird  howls.  Presently  a  scratching  was 
heard,  and  Jack  looked  towards  the  sound  only  to  see 
fall  to  the  floor  a  strip  of  dried  clay  which  had  been 
chinked  in  between  two  logs.  A  dark  nose  was  seen, 
next  a  pair  of  flashing  eyes  appeared  and  finally  a  cruel 
muzzle  was  thrust  into  the  breech  and  then  withdrawn. 
The  awful  howls  outside  increased  until  they  were 
deafening  and  blood-curdling.  Peering  out  through 
his  tiny  window,  Jack  saw — as  it  appeared  to  him — 
the  ground  literally  covered  with  great  timber  wolves. 

Again  a  muzzle  was  thrust  into  the  aperture,  up  to 
the  eyes,  and  again  it  was  withdrawn.  Snatching  up 
his  hatchet,  Jack  concealed  himself  close  by  the  narrow 
rift.  Not  long  had  he  to  wait  before  a  tawny  nose 
was  thrust  through,  whereupon  down  went  the  hatchet! 
With  a  snarl  of  pain  the  wolf  ran  off.  Jack  repeated 
this  performance  again  and  again  during  the  exciting 
hours  of  the  long  winter  night.  When  the  sun  rose 
not  a  wolf  was  in  sight.  Snatching  up  a  bushel-basket, 
the  intrepid  hermit  filled  and  emptied  it  into  the  river 
twice  before  the  floor  was  cleared  of  severed  noses! 

There  is  just  one  more  episode  in  his  Maine  career 
which  I  must  mention.  While  in  a  lumber-camp  a  dis- 
pute arose  in  which  the  young  Yankee  found  himself 
confronted  by  the  entire  camp  crew.  Hot  words  were 
exchanged.  Perceiving  the  impending  strife,  Jack 


Old  Jack,   Guide  and  Trapper  281 

stepped  to  the  center  of  the  room,  crying,  "Come  on, 
boys,  two  or  three  of  you  at  a  time ;  I  won't  fight  the 
whole  camp  at  once!"  The  fiery  youth  gained  his 
victory  by  such  tactics,  for  no  matter  how  angry  his 
opponents  might  be,  there  were  not  any  two  or  even 
three  French  Canadians  who  dared  to  commence  the 
fray.  There  stood  Curly  Jack,  the  defiant  conqueror 
of  the  whole  camp. 

During  the  Civil  War  the  name  of  "James  Allen, 
Color  Sergeant,"  is  said  to  have  appeared  on  the 
muster-roll  of  a  regiment  of  Maine  Volunteers.  It 
was  that  of  our  friend,  Curly  Jack,  now  about  twenty- 
six  years  old.  According  to  his  own  modest  admis- 
sion, he  never  failed  to  take  the  most  daring  risk  and 
was  always  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight.  Like  many 
another  old  soldier,  Jack  could  have  won  the  war 
single-handed  had  he  been  allowed  his  way,  for  he  was 
a  tireless,  fearless  fighter  and  a  marksman  of  deadly 
accuracy. 

His  regiment  was  present  at  the  First  Battle  of 
Bull  Run.  Jack  fought  unflinchingly  until  the  retreat 
began,  when,  having  won  his  laurels  as  a  fighter,  he 
next  proceeded  to  win  his  laurels  as  a  sprinter.  For 
miles  he  jogged  along  beside  his  Colonel,  who  was 
on  horseback,  literally  keeping  up  a  running  conversa- 
tion, until  at  last,  finding  the  pace  too  slow,  he  speeded 
up  and  left  the  horse  far  behind.  The  aged  guide's 
eyes  would  twinkle  and  flash  when  he  related  how  the 
"Colonel  often  complimented  me  on  beating  his  horse 
back  to  Washington." 

Then,  too,  he  loved  to  tell  of  being  at  Gettysburg. 


282  Passaconaway 

But  here  his  duties  as  color  sergeant  greatly  handi- 
capped him;  had  his  superiors  given  him  a  rifle  in 
place  of  a  puny  revolver  the  battle  never  would  have 
lasted  three  whole  days.  "I  was  considered  one  of 
the  first  five  shots  in  the  Union  Army,"  was  his  own 
blushing  confession. 

At  the  Battle  of  the  Wilderness,  amid  falling  trees, 
blazing  brush,  and  amidst  unthinkable  sufferings,  the 
doughty  color  sergeant  fought  day  after  day.  Well  do 
I  recall  hearing  the  old  guide,  only  a  few  weeks  be- 
fore his  death,  describe  the  falling  of  burning  trees 
on  friend  and  foe,  and  of  his  seeing  "Johnny  Rebs" 
drop  at  the  "bark"  of  his  revolver.  On  the  third  day, 
amid  clouds  of  smoke,  a  body  of  Confederate  cavalry 
attacked  the  piece  of  woods  which  his  shattered  regi- 
ment was  defending.  Down  upon  the  thinned  ranks 
the  Southern  horsemen  charged.  One  of  the  cavalry- 
men made  a  vicious  downward  cut  at  the  Union  stand- 
ard bearer.  Instinctively  Sergeant  Allen  put  up  the 
flag-staff  to  ward  off  the  blow.  The  saber  descended 
and  sank  deep  into  the  wood.  It  is  said  that  this 
gashed  flag-staff  and  its  tattered  flag  may  be  seen  at 
the  State  House  in  Augusta.  But  it  was  not  the  wood 
alone  which  was  gashed.  The  hand  holding  it  was 
all  but  severed,  and  for  the  rest  of  his  life  Jack  car- 
ried a  mangled,  scarred  hand  as  a  souvenir  of  this 
army  experience,  and  as  he  lay  in  his  casket  the  poor, 
crooked  hand,  resting  upon  the  silent  breast,  bore  mute 
yet  eloquent  testimony  to  a  patriot's  loyalty.  Jack's 
original  regiment  was  practically  cut  to  pieces  during 
the  war,  and  the  battle-scarred  veteran  was  trans- 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  283 

ferred  to  another  regiment.  Besides  the  battles  al- 
ready mentioned,  he  used  to  tell  of  taking  part  in 
several  other  important  engagements. 

After  the  war  he  sailed  from  Boston  and  followed 
the  sea  for  some  eight  years.  Practically  nothing  is 
known  of  this  part  of  his  career  and  he  seldom  alluded 
to  it. 

Many  years  after  the  war,  some  members  of  a 
prominent  gun-club  used  to  engage  Jack  during  the 
hunting-seasons.  Just  before  the  opening  of  a  cer- 
tain season,  some  of  the  members  wrote  to  the  old 
guide  offering  him  a  modern  automatic  rifle  if  he  would 
make  good  his  claims  of  marksmanship,  which  he  had 
often  made.  After  reading  the  letter,  he  took  his  "old 
bone-breaker"  from  its  pegs,  and  paced  off  across  the 
field  opposite  his  house  an  even  quarter  of  a  mile. 
Here  he  found  a  stump.  Standing  a  few  feet  off, 
and  taking  careful  aim,  he  fired.  Chips  flew  from  the 
stump.  A  carpenter  with  a  rule  could  not  have  found 
the  center  more  accurately  than  did  Old  Jack's  bullet. 

That  evening  the  city  men  arrived.  Strapped  to  one 
of  the  suitcases  was  a  new,  high-power  repeating  rifle. 
The  gunners  did  not  arrive  until  dusk,  so  there  was 
no  time  to  win  the  prize  that  night.  But  promptly 
after  breakfast  next  morning  their  spokesman,  holding 
up  the  rifle  before  Allen's  admiring  eyes,  said:  "Prove 
to  us  your  claim  of  being  one  of  the  best  shots  in  the 
Union  Army  and  this  is  yours."  Old  Jack  examined 
the  mechanism  a  minute,  then  threw  a  cartridge  into 
the  breech.  Standing  in  his  doorway,  he  indicated  his 
intended  mark,  brought  the  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  and, 


284  Passaconaway 

taking  no  aim  at  all,  fired,  exclaiming,  "Guess  I  hit 
it!"  He  led  the  men  to  the  stump  and  there,  sure 
enough,  was  the  bullet-hole.  The  hunters  promptly 
turned  over  to  him  the  handsome  weapon  which,  al- 
though he  seldom  used  it,  he  prized  highly. 

Time  and  again  when  asked  why  he  preferred  to 
hunt  with  his  old  gun  he  replied:  "Why  should  a  man 
hunt  squirrels  with  a  cannon  or  a  Gatling-gun  ?"  He 
was  not  very  enthusiastic  over  modern  rifles,  thinking 
them  too  powerful  or  too  complex  for  ordinary  use. 
One  day  a  youth  asked  Old  Jack's  opinion  concerning 
a  rifle  the  former  had  just  purchased.  Old  Jack  re- 
plied: "It  might  be  all  right  for  some,  but  I  shouldn't 
like  it." 

About  1873  Allen  came  into  our  valley.  From  a 
humble  driver  of  oxen,  he  gradually  evolved  into  "the 
Guide  and  Trapper  of  the  White  Mountains,"  to  use 
his  own  words.  After  a  lonely  existence  for  sev- 
eral years  on  the  slopes  of  Bear  Mountain,  he  yearned 
for  the  companionship  of  his  fellow-men.  He  became 
the  very  life  of  the  community  and  never  was  contented 
unless  starting  some  joke. 

He  was  a  "jack-of-all-trades"  and  good  at  all. 
Hunting,  fishing  and  lumbering  were  his  chief  occu- 
pations, but  anything  he  turned  his  hand  to  he  could 
do  skilfully.  Summers,  he  helped  with  the  haying  and 
looked  after  his  garden;  winters,  he  trapped,  hunted 
and  cut  ice.  Each  season  he  filled  every  spare  cubic 
inch  of  his  cabin  with  wood  before  getting  snowed  in. 

One  summer,  during  haying-time,  he  was  helping 
a  farmer,  Deacon  Annis.  Mr.  Annis  was  a  devout 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  285 

Christian,  while  Old  Jack,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  occa- 
sionally lapsed  into  profanity.  The  farm-hands  sat 
down  with  the  family  to  breakfast.  The  deacon  closed 
his  eyes  and,  with  bowed  head,  started  to  pray.  Al- 
len's eyes  wandered  about  until  they  rested  on  some 
object  out  of  doors.  On  and  on  prayed  Mr.  Annis, 
until  suddenly  the  impatient  voice  of  Old  Jack  irrev- 
erently interrupted:  "For  God's  sake,  Joe,  cut  it  short; 
the  cows  are  in  your  garden!"  Whereupon  the  pious 
farmer  remarked:  "Oh,  Jack,  you  are  an  awful  man, 
amen!"  Then  all  rushed  out  to  drive  off  the  cattle. 

Possessing  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  nevertheless  he 
had  his  troubles  and  they  were  as  tragical  to  him  as 
ours  are  to  us,  and  perhaps  more  so.  Most  of  the 
time,  devoid  of  money,  he  was  forced  to  go  hunting 
for  a  living.  So  long  as  he  had  ammunition  he  wor- 
ried little.  The  guide  seemed  to  have  been  born  a 
hunter,  as  some  are  born  soldiers,  sailors,  etc.  Often, 
starting  for  the  woods,  he  would  say:  "I  guess  I'll  go 
out  and  get  a  piece  of  meat."  The  wilderness  was 
his  market  where  food  was  to  be  bought  with  a  charge 
of  powder.  It  sorely  tried  him  even  to  think  of  be- 
ing deprived  of  venison  the  greater  part  of  the  year 
by  "game  laws."  I  suspect,  however,  that,  much  as 
he  fretted  about  it,  the  paper  law  was  not  an  effectual 
barrier  and  could  not  prevent  the  deer  from  jumping 
into  his  fry-pan.  He  regarded  game-wardens  with  in- 
tense loathing. 

While  scouring  the  woods  one  day  in  search  of  game, 
he  chanced  upon  a  warden.  Recognizing  the  buckskin- 
clad  hunter,  the  warden  demanded  his  hunting-license. 


286  Passaconaway 

Jack's  eyes  shot  fire  as  he  roared  out:  "My  license  is 
in  my  gun  barrel!"  Mr.  Warden  made  a  precipitous 
exit. 

One  cold  morning  a  man  walked  into  the  guide's 
cabin  and  sat  down.  Old  Jack  had  built  a  fire  in  the 
fireplace.  The  guest  explained  that  he  was  a  tramper 
from  the  other  side  of  the  mountain  (Paugus)  who 
wanted  to  rest  and  get  warm  before  proceeding 
further.  As  noon  approached,  Old  Jack  invited  his 
guest  to  "have  a  bite  before  setting  out."  When  the 
guest  hesitated,  Jack  intimated  that  he  intended  to 
serve  venison.  Upon  this,  the  stranger  accepted  the 
invitation.  The  simple  meal  at  an  end,  the  unknown 
unbuttoned  his  coat  and  there  shone  a  warden's  badge. 
Allen  was  informed  that  he  was  under  arrest.  Old 
Jack  stubbornly  maintained,  however,  that  the  warden 
could  not  prove  who  had  shot  the  deer  and  therefore 
refused  to  consider  himself  under  arrest.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  warden,  a  small  man,  pointed  out  that  the 
possession  of  venison  in  closed  season  was  sufficient 
evidence.  Jack  could  stand  it  no  longer.  Picking  up 
the  warden  bodily,  he  deposited  his  ungrateful  guest 
none  too  gently  in  the  fireplace.  Nor  did  he  heed  the 
latter's  cries  for  mercy  until  the  promise  had  been  ex- 
tracted that  the  warden  would  neither  report  nor  trou- 
ble him  again. 

A  man  with  a  gun  one  afternoon  knocked  at  Jack's 
door.  The  old  guide  welcomed  the  stranger  heartily 
and  insisted  that  he  should  stay  to  supper.  At  the 
table  the  host  apologized  for  not  serving  fresh  meat, 
but  promised  his  guest  that,  if  he  would  remain  over 


Old  Jack,   Guide  and  Trapper  287 

night,  he  should  have  venison  for  breakfast.  The  in- 
nocent-looking hunter,  who  was  in  reality  a  game 
warden,  accepted,  inwardly  rejoicing  over  an  oppor- 
tunity to  secure  so  easily  incriminating  evidence.  In 
the  gray  dusk  of  early  morn  two  fine  deer  came  into  the 
yard.  "You  take  that  one  and  I'll  take  the  other," 
whispered  Old  Jack.  "All  ready,— fire!"  Jack 
brought  down  his  animal,  but  the  guest  did  not  shoot. 
For  the  first  time  suspecting  the  real  character  of  his 
visitor,  the  irate  veteran  leveled  his  repeating  rifle  at 
the  latter,  roaring,  "Shoot,  or  I  will!"  The  warden 
fired  into  the  mist,  and  though  not  intending  to  kill  the 
deer,  was  so  frightened  that  he  actually  shot  it.  Need- 
less to  say  there  was  no  arrest  made  in  this  case. 

One  warden  was  a  real  bugbear  to  him.  Try  as 
he  might,  he  could  not  seem  to  shake  off  this  pest. 
Whenever  or  wherever  he  went,  this  officious  official 
seemed  to  know  of  it.  Desperation  drove  Old  Jack 
to  borrow  a  bear-trap  from  a  neighbor.  Finding  out 
the  warden's  daily  route,  he  set  his  trap  accordingly, 
placing  it  in  the  youngster's  path.  Next  morning  Mr. 
Warden  experienced  the  pleasure  of  feeling  two  huge 
jaws  close  upon  his  shins.  Fortunately  for  the  victim, 
Old  Jack  had  padded  the  teeth  so  that  the  jaws,  al- 
though holding  the  victim  in  a  viselike  grip,  did  not 
penetrate  the  flesh.  That  the  youth  might  have  plenty 
of  time  to  think,  the  guide  waited  until  almost  dark 
before  visiting  the  trap.  When  he  did  arrive,  he 
found  that  his  ruse  had  worked.  The  victim  was  pale 
and  penitent.  On  seeing  the  other's  plight,  Old  Jack 
exclaimed:  "I  set  that  trap  for  a  bear  and  caught  a 


288  Passaconaway 

darned  skunk!"  Then  he  helped  the  lad  home.  The 
warden  was  a  changed  man;  he  realized  that  promo- 
tion gained  by  jailing  a  white-haired  old  man  was  likely 
to  prove  a  pretty  expensive  promotion.  Jack  was  not 
again  molested  by  this  fellow,  who  shortly  after 
resigned. 

For  all  Old  Jack  delighted  in  drawing  the  long  bow 
concerning  his  hunting  trips,  he  was  in  reality  one 
of  the  best  hunters  in  the  state.  Not  until  age  began 
to  prey  upon  him  was  his  table  devoid  of  game.  He 
seemed  to  be  more  fortunate  than  anybody  else.  For 
days  at  a  time  he  would  be  the  only  member  of  a 
party  to  bring  in  game.  Game  seemed  to  run  right 
within  his  range.  Yet  he  never  wasted  a  particle,  or 
killed  simply  for  the  fun  of  killing. 

Of  his  first  day's  hunting-trip  in  the  Albany  Valley 
he  used  to  tell  thus:  The  river  was  high  and  several 
times  he  was  forced  to  ford  it.  While  effecting  one 
of  these  crossings  with  his  game — three  partridges, 
six  squirrels,  a  quail,  a  coon,  four  rabbits  and  a  fox — 
a  flock  of  geese  flew  over.  Firing,  he  was  gladdened 
by  the  sight  of  four  tumbling  into  the  river.  These  he 
secured.  But  just  then  the  trout  were  running  plenti- 
fully and  they  filled  his  trousers  so  full  that,  upon 
reaching  the  shallow  water,  a  button  flew  off  and  killed 
a  mink.  By  tying  the  trousers  tightly  around  his  ankles 
he  was  able  to  carry  the  trout  home,  so  that  with  the 
game  that  he  had  shot  he  could  live  like  a  prince  for 
many  a  day. 

Once  when  returning  from  an  unsuccessful  hunt  on 
Paugus,  Old  Jack  discovered  a  deer  following  on  the 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  289 

same  path.  He  went  on  down  the  trail,  towards  home, 
and  the  unsuspecting  deer  kept  on  following.  This 
performance  continued  until  the  road  in  front  of  the 
guide's  house  was  reached.  Concealing  himself,  he 
awaited  the  advent  of  his  prey.  Haughtily  the  buck 
came  on  and  then  Old  Jack  fired.  "I  guess  the  deer 
had  a  fit!"  he  was  wont  to  exclaim  at  this  juncture 
of  the  story.  The  hunter  had  only  to  drag  the  carcass 
a  few  remaining  rods  to  his  shed.  He  always  did  be- 
lieve in  conserving  his  energies,  in  making  his  head 
save  his  heels! 

For  a  time  the  buildings  on  the  Hill  Farm  were  un- 
occupied. This  farm,  between  the  former  Passacona- 
way  House  and  Mr.  Kennett's  bungalow,  is  so  situated 
that  from  the  guide's  kitchen  the  east  and  west  win- 
dows of  the  farmhouse  are  in  one  or  two  cases  in 
direct  line.  While  eating  breakfast  one  morning,  Old 
Jack  saw  a  reddish-brown  animal  pass  the  window  on 
the  farther  side  of  the  house.  Then  it  was  gone. 
Jack  took  "Old  Bone-breaker"  and,  sitting  in  the  open 
door,  waited;  it  seemed  ages,  but  by  and  by  an  ani- 
mal's body  came  into  his  zone  of  vision.  Drawing  bead 
carefully,  he  blazed  away.  When  the  smoke  had 
cleared,  both  windows  were  seen  to  be  shattered,  but 
no  animal  was  anywhere  to  be  seen.  The  quarter  mile 
between  the  two  houses  flew  under  Old  Jack's  racing 
feet.  There  by  the  Hill  House  lay  the  deer  kicking 
in  its  death-throes  and  Old  Jack  speedily  put  it  out  of 
misery. 

There  was  at  the  lumber  store,  so  a  story  runs,  a 
long-barreled  gun  which  the  veteran  longed  to  pos- 


290  Passaconaway 

sess.  Although  the  price  was  moderate,  it  might  just 
as  well  have  been  in  the  thousands.  One  wintry  morn- 
ing, while  caressing  this  gun — which  he  feared  he  prob- 
ably never  would  possess — a  deer  came  into  sight, 
bounding  about  in  the  light  snow,  a  long  distance  from 
the  rear  of  the  store.  Allen  at  once  struck  a  bar- 
gain with  the  clerk,  offering  the  bounding  deer  in  ex- 
change for  the  gun.  The  offer  was  accepted.  The 
old  hunter  stepped  to  the  back  platform  and  fired. 
Noon  saw  him  carrying  the  long-desired  firearm  home. 

Old  Jack  was  very  pronounced  in  his  likes  and  dis- 
likes and  would  persist  in  using  one  gun,  one  ax,  or 
one  fish-pole,  and  never  use  others  even  when  he  had 
them.  I  am  now  the  proud  possessor  of  his  favorite 
fish-pole,  with  its  home-made  reel.  This  was  pre- 
sented to  me  by  his  son  after  the  old  guide's  death. 
His  pet  rifle  was  "Old  Bone-breaker,"  which  he  claimed 
never  failed  to  kill.  But  as  he  got  older  he  could  not 
carry  this  heavy  firearm,  which  shot  a  half-inch  ball,  so 
he  became  attached  to  a  smaller  rifle.  This,  his  30-30 
Winchester,  is  the  one  he  holds  in  the  picture.  He 
loved  this  rifle  like  an  old  friend  and  would  not  have 
traded  it  for  a  life  of  luxury  and  ease.  Then,  too,  it 
was  a  rifle  with  a  record  to  be  proud  of.  Old  Jack 
claimed  that  it  had  slain  sixty-six  deer  and  over  twenty 
bears — which,  in  consideration  of  the  game  he  shot 
in  the  course  of  a  season,  was  not  impossible.  No 
wonder  he  cherished  such  a  rifle ! 

One  spring  Jack  and  his  son  were  fishing  through 
the  somewhat  rotten  ice  on  Church's  Pond.  The  be- 
loved rifle  was  lying  beside  them.  Suddenly  the  ice 


Photo  by  Mr.  Hunt 


OLD  JACK,  GUIDE  AND  TRAPPER 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  291 

gave  way,  and  the  fishermen  found  themselves  splash- 
ing about  in  the  pond.  The  rifle  had  sunk  immediately. 
Old  Jack  was  nearly  disconsolate,  but  he  stuck  a  pole 
into  the  mud  near  the  place  where  his  trusty  gun  had 
disappeared.  Just  as  soon  as  the  pond  was  free  from 
ice,  Jack  poled  the  raft  out  to  this  buoy.  Repeatedly 
he  grappled  for  the  rifle  and  at  length  succeeded  in 
rescuing  his  precious  weapon  from  its  muddy  bed.  He 
bore  it  home  in  triumph  and  tenderly  nursed  and  oiled 
it,  day  by  day,  until  its  natural  complexion  had  re- 
turned. Apparently  "Old  Trusty"  was  none  the  worse 
for  its  long  cold  bath,  and  Old  Jack  would  use  no 
other  as  long  as  he  lived. 

His  son  tells  how  he  and  his  father  discovered  the 
tracks  of  a  huge  bear  under  the  brow  of  Green's  Cliff. 
All  day  they  followed  the  trail.  At  nightfall  they 
camped  on  Bear  Mountain.  The  second  day  the  bear 
led  them  a  long  chase  along  the  sides  of  Paugus, 
Hedgehog,  Potash  and  Tripyramid.  Night  saw  them 
sleeping  high  up  on  the  slopes  of  Tripyramid,  beside 
some  fresh  tracks.  At  daybreak  they  set  out  again. 
Following  a  tiny  brook-bed,  they  found  tracks  exceed- 
ingly fresh.  Under  the  very  summit  the  aged  father's 
keen  eyes  spied  a  shaggy  animal  close  to  a  huge 
boulder.  His  beloved  Winchester  clicked,  and  the 
bear,  shot  behind  the  ear,  dropped  dead.  This  rifle 
is  now  the  property  of  the  author's  father,  having  been 
bought  by  him  after  the  old  guide's  death. 

While  Old  Jack  was  helping  cut  the  hotel's  supply 
of  ice,  a  cake  of  unusual  size  was  reached.  Two  of 
the  younger  men  could  not  budge  it.  The  powerful 


292  Passaconaivay 

Allen  braced  himself,  and  in  all  seriousness  addressed 
the  others  thus:  "You  three  men  take  that  side  and 
I'll  take  this." 

One  of  Allen's  keenest  delights  was  to  guide 
parties,  especially  schoolma'ams.  He  was  not  only 
handsomely  rewarded,  but  loved  to  play  the  hero  in 
their  eyes.  Many  a  time  he  marched  up  the  road  with 
a  dozen  or  so  flocking  about  him,  listening  breathlessly 
to  his  stories  of  hand-to-hand  victories  over  blood- 
thirsty beasts.  If  game  or  excitement  were  lacking, 
he  would  manage  to  "start  something."  His  subtle 
sense  of  humor  never  permitted  a  minute  to  go  to 
waste.  He  would  either  scare  his  party  half  to  death 
or  play  some  practical  joke  which  never  failed  to  pro- 
duce a  laugh. 

Some  "city  folks,"  having  vainly  searched  the  woods 
for  the  sight  of  a  deer,  stopped  before  the  guide's 
house  and  inquired  of  him  if  there  were  any  deer  in 
that  part  of  the  state.  "Deer!"  roared  Old  Jack. 
"There  goes  one  now!"  Instinctively  they  faced  about 
to  look  in  the  direction  indicated  by  his  finger,  but 
in  vain.  "His  tail  disappeared  behind  that  brushy  pine 
just  as  you  turned  round,"  explained  the  guide. 

Upon  receiving  news  that  some  youngsters  were 
coming  up  to  camp  with  him,  the  aged  guide  went  out  in 
search  of  game.  But  for  once  he  was  forced  to  return 
empty-handed.  In  due  season  the  young  chaps  were 
deposited  at  his  door  by  the  stage-driver.  The  lads' 
mouths  were  watering  for  a  game  dinner.  Horrors! 
What  sort  of  a  guide  would  this  old  man  be  if  he 
could  offer  no  game?  Bringing  in  three  steaming  plat- 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  293 

ters,  he  exclaimed:  "Now,  boys,  we  have  here  three 
kinds  of  meat,  venison,  bear,  and  salt  pork;  take  either 
one  or  all  three,  and  don't  be  afraid  to  eat  hearty." 
But  no  matter  from  which  platter  the  unsuspecting 
lads  helped  themselves,  in  reality  they  partook  of  the 
meat  which,  under  Jewish  law,  is  forbidden  food,  for 
the  meat  was  all  salt  pork,  cooked  in  three  of  the  many 
different  ways  in  which  the  old  guide  knew  how  to 
serve  it.  The  city  fellows  never  suspected  the  deceit. 

A  party  which  was  going  up  to  camp  on  Owl  Cliff 
had  an  exceptionally  large  amount  of  baggage,  and 
Old  Jack,  as  guide,  was  supposed  to  carry  it  all.  It 
does  seem  as  though  some  people  hire  a  guide  in  place 
of  a  truck-horse !  Weighted  down  with  a  crushing 
load  and  with  dozens  of  things  dangling  from  pack, 
belt,  rifle  and  climbing-stick,  the  aged  guide  had  to 
pick  his  way  carefully  and  for  once  lagged  behind 
his  party.  To  hurry  him  up,  a  fresh  little  snob  play- 
fully struck  him  a  resounding  crack  across  the  legs 
with  a  switch.  As  quick  as  lightning  the  luggage  was 
on  the  ground,  and,  with  flashing  eyes,  the  patriarch 
refused  to  proceed  another  step.  After  the  lad  had 
apologized  and  the  incensed  guide  had  cooled  off  some- 
what, he  was  prevailed  upon  to  continue.  But  he  did 
not  forget  the  episode  and  stored  up  his  revenge  until 
a  more  opportune  time. 

When  darkness  closed  in  upon  their  cozy  little  camp 
that  evening  the  wind  tossed  the  frosty  trees  and  they 
snapped  and  cracked.  The  youngsters,  unaccustomed 
to  this  life,  became  uneasy.  They  huddled  close 
around  the  fire  and  Old  Jack  added  to  their  nervous- 


294  Passaconaway 

ness  by  rehearsing  some  terrible  adventures.  Ever 
and  anon  he  gazed  out  into  the  darkness,  and,  listen- 
ing until  the  wind  snapped  the  trees  again,  would  re- 
mark in  a  hoarse  whisper:  "Bears  coming  up  through 
the  woods,  boys."  Whereupon  he  would  commence 
another  thriller.  Having  drawn  them  close  to  the 
glowing  embers,  Old  Jack  suggested  that,  before  turn- 
ing in,  they  should  enjoy  some  roasted  eggs.  None 
of  them  had  ever  eaten  any  roasted  eggs,  but  all  en- 
thusiastically ratified  the  guide's  proposal.  The  old 
joker  raked  out  some  red-hot  coals  and,  placing  a 
dozen  eggs  in  the  hottest  part,  covered  them  over. 
Then,  as  if  seeking  something  in  the  tent,  he  left  the 
group.  No  sooner  had  the  folds  of  the  tent-door 
closed  behind  him  than,  "Bang!  bang!  pop,  pop,  pop, 
pop!"  went  the  eggs,  while  an  ash-covered  sticky  sub- 
stance flew  in  all  directions,  plastering  the  boys  com- 
pletely. A  chuckle  of  smothered  laughter  came  from 
the  tent.  Old  Jack  was  having  his  revenge.  There 
was  not  a  man  in  the  town  who  was  the  guide's  equal 
in  playing  tricks. 

During  his  life  in  our  valley  he  resided  on  Bear 
Mountain,  in  the  French-roofed  house  at  the  foot  of 
the  Great  Intervale,  in  the  Carrigain  House  where  he 
took  boarders,  in  the  cottage  near  Kennett's  bungalow, 
and  one  winter  (1911-1912)  in  the  little  Post  Office 
building  opposite  the  hotel. 

Once  when  game  was  scarce  Old  Jack  had  hard 
work  to  live  up  to  his  reputation  of  being  the  "guide 
and  trapper  of  the  White  Mountains,"  which  he  felt 
implied  that  he  must  get  more  game  than  anybody  else. 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  295 

He  trapped  a  mink,  however,  and  mink  are  now  rare 
in  our  valley.  This  little  creature  he  "carried  about 
in  his  overalls  pocket  until  the  hair  wore  off"  (so 
the  natives  claim).  Each  morning  he  would  hail 
passers-by,  and,  pulling  the  mink  out  of  his  pocket,  he 
would  exclaim,  "I've  got  a  mink  this  morning." 

Deep  in  the  recesses  of  one  of  his  pockets  an  old- 
fashioned  silver  watch  used  to  nestle.  This  was  al- 
most as  large  as  a  coffee  cup.  He  prized  this  ancient 
time-piece  and,  although  it  was  not  what  one  might 
truthfully  call  an  expensive  chronometer,  he  often  pro- 
duced it  and  read  the  time,  especially  in  the  presence 
of  admiring  strangers.  He  came  into  possession  of 
this  watch  when  he  was  a  stripling  in  Maine.  A  few 
days  later  he  was  invited  to  a  New  England  harvest 
celebration,  with  cider  and  nuts  among  the  attractions. 
Nuts  were  passed  around  uncracked,  and  tools  were 
then  furnished  with  which  to  crack  them.  Jack  was 
near  the  end  of  the  line,  and  the  supply  of  tools  had 
long  since  given  out  before  reaching  him,  so  he  was  left 
to  his  own  resources.  Pulling  out  the  watch,  he  cracked 
his  nuts  with  it  to  the  tune  of  "Ping!  Ping!  Ping!" 
(as  he  used  to  express  it). 

One  of  Jack's  pronounced  characteristics  was  his 
frankness.  He  has  often  been  heard  to  say  to  his 
guests,  if  he  considered  that  they  were  staying  too 
late,  "Well,  good-by,  boys;  come  in  again  soon." 
With  that  he  would  open  the  door  and  start  to  light 
their  way  out;  even  before  they  had  made  the  slight- 
est move  to  leave.  He  also  would  allow  no  trifling 
with  him.  While  bending  over  a  campfire,  a  friend, 


296  Passaconaway 

who  suddenly  and  quietly  had  come  up,  greeted  him 
with  a  sound  spank  on  what  Dr.  Talmage  used  to  call 
"the  God-ordained  spot,"  and  a  hearty  "Good-morning, 

Mr.  Allen!"  Like  a  flash  his  fist  flew  past  M 's 

face,  missing  it  by  a  hair.  "I  never  allow  anybody 
to  lay  a  hand  on  me,"  Old  Jack  snapped  out  to  his 
companion,  who  was  an  old  acquaintance  and  whom 
he  would  not  have  hurt  for  the  world.  He  would  stand 
no  fooling. 

He  was  one  of  the  "tallest"  story-tellers  that  ever 
lived,  but  no  matter  how  apocryphal  his  tales,  no  one 
cared  or  dared  to  smile  or  in  any  way  display  a  doubt 
while  in  his  presence  as  to  the  truth  of  these  yarns. 

While  cutting  ice,  a  would-be  joker  said:  "Say,  Mr. 
Allen,  what  are  you  putting  the  ice  in  there  now  for, 
when  it  is  so  long  to  summer?  Ain't  you  afraid  it 
will  get  wormy?"  A  knowing  smile  spread  over  his 
venerable  face  as  the  patriarch  replied:  "Wormy! 
no,  sonny,  mountain  ice  doesn't  get  wormy!" 

One  time,  however,  a  neighbor  got  the  better  of 

him.  While  P was  plastering  some  cement  in  a 

mold  at  the  base  of  a  beam  which  supported  the  barn 
floor,  Old  Jack's  shadow  darkened  the  doorway. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  P .  What  are  you  doing 

with  the  mud?"  "This  isn't  mud,  Jack;  it's  cement," 
replied  the  worker.  "Well,  to  common  folks  mud  and 
cement  appear  to  look  a  pile  alike.  Do  you  expect 
that  mud  to  hold  up  your  barn  floor?"  Here  the 
younger  man  had  him,  so  he  replied:  "Mr.  Allen,  if 
you  will  bring  your  sledge-hammer  down  here  in  a 
week  I  will  give  you  leave  to  knock  my  cement  down 


Old  Jack,   Guide  and  Trapper  297 

and  erect  a  support  to  your  liking."  A  week  later, 
almost  to  the  hour,  saw  Jack  triumphantly  marching 
down  towards  the  hotel  with  his  hammer.  Try  as  he 
might,  however,  his  resounding  blows  made  not  the 
slightest  impression,  and  at  length,  breathing  heavily, 
he  stopped  to  gaze  upon  the  crackless  umud"  in  amaze- 
ment. 

A  few  years  before  his  death  Old  Jack  was  taken 
for  his  first  automobile  ride.  Before  he  came  into 
sight  we  could  hear  the  wildest  hooting  and  scream- 
ing. When,  going  at  furious  speed,  the  auto  spun  into 
sight,  there  was  Curly  Jack  standing  upright,  tightly 
clutching  the  rod  across  the  back  of  the  front  seat, 
with  his  long  white  locks  standing  out  horizontally 
and  his  ruddy  cheeks  aglow.  Passing  us,  with  howls 
of  glee,  his  eyes  sparkled  and  he  jovially  waved  his 
broad-brimmed  hat.  He  was  having  the  time  of  his 
life.  "I  felt  as  if  I  was  shot  out  of  a  cannon  through 
a  Christmas  tree,"  was  his  terse  description  of  the 
mad  dash  along  the  tree-fringed  road.  He  could  not 
be  induced  ever  to  take  another  ride,  however. 
"Enough  is  enough,"  was  his  watch-word. 

One  of  the  crowning  adventures  of  his  life  was  when 
he  left  his  mountain  hut  for  a  visit  to  his  son  in 
Dover  and  to  Boston  from  which  he  once  had 
sailed.  Very  late  in  life  this  trip  was  taken,  and  many 
of  his  tales  from  that  time  on  were  concerning  the 
unbearable  features  of  city  life.  He  never  tired  of 
depicting  the  horrors  of  civilization.  A  mill-owner 
took  Mr.  Allen  through  his  plant  and  after  that  the 
guide  was  disgusted  with  city  life,  "Why,  the  girls' 


298  Passaconaway 

faces  in  that  mill  were  as  white  as  a  sheet."  He  was 
irritated  by  the  harsh  noises,  could  not  sleep  nights, 
and  experienced  a  stifling  sensation,  as  if  not  getting 
enough  pure  air;  in  short,  he  was  thoroughly  un- 
comfortable. 

For  forty  years  Old  Jack — "The  Guide  and  Trap- 
per of  the  White  Mountains" — had  not  been  in  a 
city,  so  his  son  took  him  to  Boston.  All  was  so  dif- 
ferent that  the  modern  Rip  Van  Winkle  was  sadly 
disappointed.  The  old  streets  and  buildings  were  not 
there,  and  he  could  not  go  down  a  street  without  being 
bumped  into  or  trampled  on — streets  which  in  his  youth 
he  might  walk  down  with  elbows  extended  and  en- 
counter no  jostling.  Often  he  remarked:  "I  don't  see 
what  they  all  do  there  or  where  they  stay."  He  ex- 
perienced one  ray  of  pleasure,  however,  when  he  saw 
a  "blue-coat  nip  a  buzz-car"  (auto)  because  it  did  not 
wait  for  the  pedestrians  to  pass. 

While  riding  in  a  trolley-car  he  was  delighted  until 
it  began  to  rock,  then  he  promptly  jumped  off. 

His  son  persuaded  him  to  take  an  elevator  en  route 
to  the  top  of  a  skyscraper.  The  "lift"  had  reached 
only  the  second  story  when  the  old  guide  demanded  to 
be  let  out,  remarking:  "I  will  elevate  myself  up  the 
rest  of  the  way."  He  climbed  the  remaining  dozen 
or  so  flights  without  a  murmur.  Upon  gaining  the  roof 
he  gazed  about,  then  having  satisfied  his  curiosity 
he  settled  down  as  if  to  stay  there.  His  son  asked 
if  he  was  not  ready  to  go  down,  to  which  Old  Jack 
replied:  "I  am  going  to  wait  here  and  hear  the  angels 
sing."  Such  were  the  eyes  through  which  he  viewed 


Old  Jack,  Guide  and  Trapper  299 

civilization. 

During  the  winter  of  1911-1912,  the  old  guide  be- 
came severely  ill  from  cancer  of  the  intestines.  He 
went  to  Dover,  where  he  was  tenderly  cared  for,  but 
he  suffered  terribly.  Everything  that  medical  science 
could  do,  was  done.  Temporary  relief  from  pain  be- 
ing obtained,  the  old  mountaineer  longed  to  get  back 
to  Passaconaway.  He  was  seriously  ill,  but  stoically 
bore  the  pain.  No  man  ever  was  happier  than  was 
he  when  he  kindled  the  fire  once  more  in  the  little  cozy 
mountain  cottage  at  Passaconaway.  He  was  home 
again — home  to  die. 

A  week  before  he  passed  away  we  saw  him,  with 
shouldered  rifle,  walking  down  the  Mast  Road.  Upon 
our  greeting  him  he  stated  that  he  had  been  up  to  the 
top  of  Mt.  Passaconaway  before  breakfast.  This  sum- 
mer he  was  seen  carrying  whole  tree  trunks  on  his 
shoulder  to  be  sawed  and  split  for  his  next  winter's 
fuel.  He  walked  down  to  the  post  office  two  days 
before  his  death,  and  on  his  last  morning,  though  suf- 
fering agonies  from  the  disease  which  was  rapidly  sap- 
ping his  life,  he  walked  to  the  store;  from  here  medical 
aid  was  summoned,  but  too  late.  That  afternoon, 
Saturday,  July  20,  1912,  he  passed  away. 

On  Monday  following  many  of  us  in  the  intervale 
turned  out  to  gather  wild  flowers,  evergreens  and  fir 
boughs.  Loving  hands  transformed  the  little  school- 
house  into  a  veritable  bower  of  beauty,  evergreens 
and  wild  flowers  completely  covering  black-boards  and 
bare  walls.  The  aged  guide  could  not  have  imagined 
a  more  beautiful  and  appropriate  and  satisfying  set- 


300  Passaconaway 

ting  for  his  funeral  service. 

In  the  afternoon,  after  a  prayer,  his  body  was  taken 
from  the  little  house  which  had  been  his  home  and 
carried  to  the  schoolhouse.  The  entire  community 
turned  out  for  the  last  earthly  expression  of  affection, 
and  even  strangers  were  deeply  moved  by  such  a  spon- 
taneous outpouring  of  unfeigned  love.  After  a  brief 
and  touching  service,  conducted  by  clergymen  friends 
of  Old  Jack  from  New  York  and  Chicago,  all  formed 
in  procession  and  marched  across  the  street  to  the  little 
(Russell)  cemetery,  where  the  casket  was  lowered  to 
its  last  resting  place.  Nothing  could  be  more  beau- 
tifully impressive  than  this  summer  afternoon  scene 
in  the  tiny  grave-yard,  surrounded  by  his  beloved 
mountains,  where  stood  the  sorrowing  group  of  sin- 
cere friends  with  bared  heads,  gazing  reverently  upon 
the  flag-covered  casket  in  which  reposed  the  body  of 
their  comrade,  fellow-citizen  and  friend. 

Thus  ended  the  life  of  one  who  really  belonged  to 
an  earlier  type  of  men.  He  was  of  that  breed  who 
braved  the  dangers  of  the  wilderness  to  help  lay  the 
foundation  of  a  great  nation.  Few  indeed  are  these 
"oldtimers"  remaining  to-day. 

There  was  a  delightful  out-of-door-ness  about  this 
man  that  was  infectious  and  gratifying.  Bluff,  hearty, 
brave,  loyal,  of  pronounced  convictions  and  utter  frank- 
ness, a  magnetic  sort  of  a  sunbeam  was  he.  His  pass- 
ing took  from  the  valley  its  most  picturesque  person- 
ality, and  the  Passaconaway  Intervale  does  not  seem 
quite  the  same  without  "dear  Old  Jack  Allen"  to  wel- 
come us. 


- 


CHAPTER  XVI 

FORTY  BELOW  ZERO  IN  PASSACONA WAY-LAND 

C-0-N-W-A-Y  !  C-0-N-W-A-Y  ! "  Then  the 
red-faced  conductor  slammed  the  door  and 
disappeared  into  the  next  car  ahead.  Enveloping  our- 
selves in  heavy  sheepskin-lined  coats,  we  snatched  up 
our  bags  and  made  our  way  to  the  platform.  Low 
clouds  hung  cold  and  leaden  over  Chocorua's  snow- 
capped tooth  and  the  gaunt,  leafless  forests  at  its  foot. 
The  little  station  was  approaching.  Never  had  I  seen 
it  so  thronged  and  so  busily  humming  with  excitement 
as  to-day.  As  the  train  stopped,  the  crowd  surged 
down  the  platform  and  in  the  midst — almost  suffo- 
cated— was  a  jolly  red-coated  figure,  a  blue-hooded 
Santa  Claus. 

My  chum  and  I  were  the  only  passengers  getting  off 
at  Conway,  and  we  claimed  as  ours  the  trunk  which 
banged  down  upon  the  waiting  truck.  We  were  met 
by  a  swarthy,  thin-faced,  muscular  man  bundled  up 
in  a  heavy  red  sweater.  It  was  the  stage-driver,  who, 
after  exchanging  greetings,  repaired  to  the  livery  sta- 
ble for  his  mail-coach.  While  waiting  for  our  Jehu 
to  reappear,  we  took  off  our  shoes  and  encased  our 
nether  extremities  in  huge  "felts"  which  we  had 
brought  with  us,  and  which  are  the  common  winter 
foot-gear  in  this  region.  The  next  few  minutes  we 
301 


302  Passaconaway 

stumped  about  the  waiting-room  of  the  station,  clum- 
sily thumping  our  heavy  heels  and  toes.  Didn't  we  feel 
foolish  and  awkward,  though!  An  elephant  on  roller- 
skates  was  graceful  as  compared  to  the  way  we  felt, 
for  it  was  the  first  time  we  had  ever  worn  such  foot- 
gear. Our  first  attempts  to  navigate  in  these  heavy 
boots  must  certainly  have  been  amusing  to  the  farmers, 
lounging  about  in  the  station,  but  they  courteously  con- 
cealed their  mirth  from  our  eyes. 

A  "Who-o-o-a"  announced  the  return  of  our  driver, 
so  we  loaded  our  baggage  into  the  mail-pung.  The 
driver  of  the  tri-weekly  mail-stage  from  Passaconaway 
to  Conway  is  entrusted  by  the  few  inhabitants  of  the 
Albany  Intervale  with  all  their  shopping  errands. 
Hence,  at  Christmas-time,  his  function  is  that  of  an 
assistant  Santa  Claus.  Fond  parents  smilingly  had 
whispered  mysterious  secrets  into  his  ear  on  his  way 
down,  and  now,  piled  high  in  the  pung,  were  dozens 
of  presents,  on  top  of  all  of  which  a  girl's  sled  was 
strapped.  We  pushed  our  baggage  in  among  the  ex- 
press parcels,  and,  finding  a  narrow  valley  between 
two  small  mountains  of  packages,  we  crawled  into  it 
and  found  ourselves  on  the  second  seat,  where  we 
bundled  up  in  anticipation  of  the  sixteen-mile  ride  up 
into  the  wintry  sky.  The  driver  had  donned  a  shaggy 
bearskin  coat,  which  bade  defiance  to  the  marrow-chil- 
ling nor'wester  which  was  bearing  down  upon  us. 
There  was  a  thick  crust  on  the  eight  inches  of  snow. 
The  leaden  heavens  threatened  to  pour  out  their  win- 
try wrath  upon  us  at  any  moment. 

Gliding  up   the   street   on    our   way   to    the    Con- 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land    303 

way  post  office,  we  passed  dozens  of  merrily  jingling 
sleighs.  The  people  of  the  whole  country-side  seemed 
to  be  here,  doing  their  Christmas  shopping.  After  a 
few  moments'  halt  at  the  post  office,  we  proceeded 
to  the  store,  where  we  found  awaiting  us  our  provi- 
sions, which  we  had  ordered  ahead.  Then,  all  errands 
being  finished,  our  horses  turned  their  heads  homeward 
and  we  two  passengers  settled  down  to  the  stern  busi- 
ness of  life. 

Parcels   to   right  of   us, 
Bundles  to  left  of  us, 
Boxes  in  front  of  us, 
Wedged  us  in  snugly. 

Swiftly  down  the  road  we  slipped,  past  the  ruins 
of  the  chair-factory,  past  the  ball-field,  now  mourn- 
fully draped  in  a  white  pall,  and  through  the  covered 
bridge  over  the  Swift  we  plunged.  On  our  right  and 
ahead  of  us  were  the  gray,  indistinct  forms  of  Kear- 
sarge,  Moat  and  the  far-off  Presidential  Range,  while 
on  our  left  was  Chocorua,  with  its  tiny,  solitary  Peak 
House  at  the  base  of  its  jagged  horn.  Along  the  snow- 
clad  meadows  and  up  to  Potter's  Farm  we  flew;  just 
north  of  this  farm  we  skidded  aroun^d  the  corner,  took 
the  road  to  Passaconaway  and  plunged  in  among  sweet- 
scented  spruces,  pines  and  hemlocks. 

The  Passaconaway  Road  is  the  only  highway  lead- 
ing to  our  little  valley.  It  runs  almost  directly  west, 
skirting  the  Swift  River.  Scarcely  had  we  entered 
upon  this  road  when  a  snowflake  fell  upon  my  shoul- 
der, then  another  and  another.  Small,  but  hard  and 


304  Passaconaway 

thick,  no  feathers  these,  they  were  more  icy,  and  ap- 
peared like  bird-shot.  A  few  minutes  only  and  we 
were  buried  in  a  hissing  cloud  of  whirling,  spinning 
and  tumbling  snow.  Sometimes  with  bowed  heads  and 
sometimes  with  the  side  of  our  faces  to  the  snow-laden 
gale,  we  bravely  fronted  the  blizzard.  These  snow 
"pebbles,"  driving  into  our  faces,  cut  and  stung  like 
knife-blades. 

After  facing  the  keen  air  some  four  or  five  miles, 
we  became  ravenously  hungry.  Opening  our  lunch- 
boxes,  I  offered  the  driver  a  large,  rosy-cheeked  ap- 
ple, which  he  accepted.  I  noticed  that  he  did  not  seem 
to  eat  it  very  rapidly.  On  biting  into  another  apple 
myself,  I  found  it  to  be  frozen  as  hard  as  a  rock. 
We  attempted  a  few  pork  chops.  Evidently  the  cold- 
storage  man  had  been  at  work,  for  they  were  frozen 
stiff.  Only  the  boiled  eggs  and  sandwiches  were  edi- 
ble and  they  seemed  somewhat  ossified.  Having  sat- 
isfied our  hunger,  I  reached  for  the  bottle  of  hot 
coffee  which  I  had  carefully  stowed  away  in  my  sheep- 
skin coat.  What  was  my  surprise  and  disappointment 
to  find  that  I  pulled  out  only  the  neck  and  upper  half 
of  the  bottle.  The  other  half  zealously  encircled  a 
solid  core  of  coffee-ice  still  remaining  in  the  huge 
pocket. 

We  tucked  away  our  lunches  and  settled  down  for 
the  bitter  reality  of  ten  more  miles.  Let  UT.  R."  talk 
about  "the  strenuous  life"  if  he  wishes.  We  certainly 
lived  it  that  afternoon.  We  were  tucked  in  so  tightly 
that  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  could  we  move,  and 
we  were  forced  to  maintain  this  cramped  position  for 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      305 

four  mortal  hours  in  the  face  of  a  biting  blizzard.  For 
it  was  a  blizzard,  in  good  earnest.  The  swirling  snow- 
clouds  were  so  thick  that  we  could  not  see  fifty  feet 
in  any  direction. 

Ascending  the  height  at  Colby  Chase's  house,  we 
were  greeted  with  a  friendly  "Hello"  from  an  unseen 
figure.  Then  a  merry  farmer  came  out  to  get  his 
mail,  jocularly  saying:  "Snowed  out,  you  be."  "Why 
out?"  "Because  if  you  were  in  the  house  you'd  be 
snowed  in."  Having  enlightened  us  as  to  our  status, 
he  disappeared  in  the  direction  of  the  house,  bearing 
the  welcome  newspapers  and  a  letter  or  two. 

Over  the  roaring  Swift  we  sped,  through  the  "Half 
Way  Bridge,"  and  then  past  the  Ham  Farm  at  the 
foot  of  Spruce  Hill.  This  hill  is  one  of  the  hardest 
hills  in  the  state  for  autoists  and  is  the  bane  of  our  val- 
ley. It  is  a  long  uphill  pull  of  a  mile  or  more.  In  places 
where  the  road  narrowed  we  could  just  make  out  the 
steep  embankment,  plunging  dizzily  down  to  the  river 
far  below.  At  the  very  top  of  Spruce  Hill  we  reached 
the  "Devil's  Jump."  I  described  it  faithfully  to  my 
chum  Bob — how,  on  a  summer  day,  one  can  stand  here 
and,  looking  across  to  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river, 
behold  a  sheer  precipice,  down  which,  with  perfect 
ease,  one  might  coast  in  a  fry-pan,  though  to  accom- 
plish such  a  feat  in  safety  none  but  his  traditional 
Satanic  Majesty  would  be  able.  Of  course  I  had  to 
tell  Bob  about  the  mistake  I  made  when  a  tiny  young- 
ster. One  year,  when  I  was  four  years  old,  my  par- 
ents were  on  their  way  up  to  enjoy  their  annual 
summering  in  Passaconaway-land.  Reaching  the  top 


306  Passaconaway 

of  Spruce  Hill,  we  all  got  out  of  the  mountain-wagon 
(for  the  automobile  had  not  yet  penetrated  our  wil- 
derness in  those  days)  to  view  the  Devil's  Jump. 
After  gazing  across  at  the  frightful  ledges,  and  peer- 
ing down  the  steep  incline  to  the  river  so  far  below 
us,  my  parents  returned  to  the  wagon,  while  I  lingered. 
They  called,  I  refused  to  come.  They  inquired  the 
reason.  "I  want  to  see  the  Devil  jump.  When  is 
the  Devil  going  to  jump?"  was  my  reply.  But  all  the 
scenic  wonders  at  the  Devil's  Jump  had  to  be  taken 
on  faith  by  Bob  on  this  December  day,  for  not  a  thing 
could  be  seen  except  blinding  snow-swirls. 

Clouds  of  steam  rose  continuously  from  the  bodies 
of  the  toiling  horses  as  they  pressed  onward. 
"Hooooo  !  Hooo  !  Hu  !  Hooo  !"  suddenly  shrieked 
something  a  few  rods  ahead.  Coming,  as  it  did,  out 
of  the  depths  of  the  wilderness,  it  sounded  uncanny  and 
almost  supernatural.  But  the  next  instant  the  mystery 
was  solved,  for  there  leaped  into  view,  about  fifty 
feet  below  us  and  near  the  river  bank,  the  locomo- 
tive of  the  lumber-train.  With  a  great  puffing,  rat- 
tling and  clanging,  the  train  of  perhaps  thirty  little 
logging-cars,  loaded  high  with  snow-covered  logs, 
rushed  into  view.  Almost  as  quickly  as  it  had  come, 
with  a  clanking  and  creaking  and  squeaking  of  brakes, 
it  disappeared.  Again  the  brownish-white  snow  cur- 
tain shut  out  the  scenery,  and  we  were  once  more  alone 
amid  a  solitude  of  spinning,  driving  flakes. 

Mile  after  mile  wriggled  by  under  our  runners,  un- 
til finally,  when  within  about  five  miles  of  our  jour- 
ney's end,  we  passed  Ellen's  Falls,  or  the  Swift  River 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      307 

Falls,  as  they  are  sometimes  called.  Had  it  been  a 
summer  day,  we  should  have  jumped  out  of  our  con- 
veyance and  scrambled  out  over  the  level  white  ledges 
to  the  very  brink  of  the  falls.  There  a  pretty  sight 
greets  one,  for,  as  Sweetser  says:  "The  river  here 
plunges  downward  for  a  few  feet  through  a  series  of 
boiling  eddies,  and  is  narrowed  into  a  straight  pas- 
sage between  regular  and  massive  granite  walls  about 
twenty  feet  high  and  several  rods  long.  The  stream 
roars  down  through  this  contracted  gorge,  and  over- 
flows it  during  high  water."  l 

But  to-day,  all  blizzard-lashed  as  we  are,  we  cannot 
tarry  for  sightseeing.  Our  driver  urges  on  the  horses 
and  soon  we  reach  the  deserted  houses  once  tenanted 
by  French  lumbermen;  next  the  cheerful  lights  of  the 
Annis  house  twinkle  out;  then  we  pass  the  store  and 
Mrs.  Colbath's.  We  are  now  speeding  along  on  the 
home-stretch.  In  the  darkness  we  leave  behind  the 
Loring  bungalow  and  Jack  Allen's  last  home.  Pres- 
ently the  Hill  Farm  slips  by,  and  now  the  hospitable 
lights  of  the  Passaconaway  House  twinkle  forth.  Our 
long  ride  is  ended  and  we  are  still  alive.  Here  at 
the  little  hotel  we  find  awaiting  us  light  and  warmth 
and  a  welcome  from  beloved  neighbors.  Without  de- 
lay we  are  seated  at  a  bountiful  table  and  our  plates 
are  heaped  high  with  steaming  food. 

After  supper  we  spent  a  pleasant  hour  in  conver- 
sation. The  genial  postmaster  showed  us  his  stuffed 
lynx  which  had  been  shot  a  few  months  before.  Sev- 
eral other  "trophies  of  the  chase,"  all  taken  in  our 

1  Osgood's  White  Mountains,  342. 


308  Passaconaivay 

intervale,  were  also  in  evidence,  among  them  being 
deer-heads,  a  big  hen  hawk,  and  an  owl,  all  beauti- 
fully mounted. 

Realizing  that  the  sooner  we  got  our  cottage 
warmed  up  and  the  trunk  unpacked  the  sooner  we 
might  go  to  bed,  we  regretfully  bade  our  hosts  "Good- 
night" and  trudged  across  the  road,  knee-deep  in  snow, 
to  "Score-o'-Peaks."  We  had  borrowed  a  lantern  and 
a  pail  of  water.  We  carried  the  trunk  in  from  the 
porch,  where  the  stage-driver  had  deposited  it,  and 
then  lighted  every  oil-lamp  in  the  house.  With  the 
thermometer  registering  eighteen  below  zero  out  of 
doors,  needless  to  say  we  started  a  fire  in  "double 
quick"  time,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  grateful  glow 
of  two  red-hot  stoves  added  to  our  cheer,  and  we  dis- 
carded our  heavy  wraps  as  the  frail  summer-cottage 
warmed  up. 

After  unpacking  the  trunk,  we  next  turned  our  at- 
tention to  the  making  of  the  bed.  There  were  two 
double  beds  in  our  chambers.  We  placed  the  two  mat- 
tresses upon  the  bed  in  the  room  above  the  kitchen. 
Then  spreading  two  pairs  of  blankets  beneath,  and 
four  pairs  on  top  of  our  woolen  sheets,  and  laying  sev- 
eral folded  quilts  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  we  content- 
edly gazed  upon  our  handiwork,  and  then  went  down 
to  get  warm  before  turning  in. 

We  tucked  away  our  provisions  in  convenient  nooks 
and,  drawing  the  table  up  as  close  to  the  stove  as 
possible,  we  spread  the  remainder  of  our  lunches  upon 
it.  Bob  and  I  partook,  with  a  relish,  of  toasted  bread 
and  hot  malted  milk.  Among  other  edibles,  a  bottle 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      309 

of  olives,  hitherto  unopened,  "went  the  way  of  all  the 
earth."  Our  lunches  had  been  put  up  with  the  idea  in 
view  of  lasting  us  three  or  four  meals.  Completing  a 
most  satisfactory  lunch,  we  replaced  in  the  box  the 
half-frozen  pork-chops,  hard-boiled  eggs,  brittle  sand- 
wiches, and  a  mince  pie  which,  in  its  present  condi- 
tion, would  have  made  a  good  harrow  roller-blade. 
Before  retiring  we  nailed  a  thermometer  to  a  piazza- 
post,  placed  the  pail  of  water  between  the  cook-stove 
and  chimney,  stuffed  the  stoves  with  huge  chunks  of 
wood  and  climbed  the  stairs. 

Upon  Bob's  suggestion,  we  brought  upstairs  our  fur- 
lined  caps.  Full  of  joyful  anticipation  of  the  experi- 
ences which  the  future  had  in  store,  pulling  our  cap 
flaps  well  down  over  our  faces,  we  soon  were  lost  to 
the  world,  being  transported  to  the  "Land  of  the 
Mountaineer." 

"B-r-r-r,  boom!"  A  snowslide,  which  sounded  as  if 
it  would  rip  off  the  whole  side  of  the  roof,  awakened 
us  with  a  start.  We  pulled  up  over  us  all  the  quilts 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  We  could  almost  see  the  cold. 
The  wind  was  rattling  the  windows  and  doors,  so  that 
they  sounded  like  the  continuous  chatter  of  Catling 
guns.  The  constant  roar  of  the  wind  told  of  the  gale 
without  and  in  such  a  racket  sleep  was  out  of  the 
question.  Chocorua  stood  out  black  and  jagged  over 
the  broad  tract  of  snow-capped  hackmatacks. 

The  cold  had  stopped  our  time-pieces.  Bob  re- 
marked that  the  sun  didn't  rise  so  early  here  as  in  the 
Bay  State  and  that  it  might  be  well  to  get  breakfast  be- 
fore evening.  So,  after  much  hesitation,  we  counted 


3io  Passaconaway 

a  shivering  "One,  two,  and — and — thre-eee."  Before 
we  had  time  to  think  better  of  our  decision  we  were 
dressed  in  clothes,  which  felt  as  if  they  had  lain  on 
a  sheet  of  ice  for  days.  Talk  about  cold — frigid — 
there  actually  was  ice  in  the  bottom  of  our  "felts" ! 
For  the  next  few  minutes  we  hobbled  about  in  frozen 
boots,  but  at  length  they  thawed  out  and  recovered 
their  suppleness. 

Shivering  and  wringing  our  blue  hands,  we  coaxed 
our  smoldering  fire  into  life  and  soon  a  flame  shot  up 
from  the  embers.  The  dismembered  parts  of  our  provi- 
sion box,  the  only  wood  we  now  had  inside  the  cottage, 
went  into  the  stove,  and  leaving  Bob  as  chef  to  pre- 
pare the  breakfast  I  set  out,  shovel  in  hand,  to  exca- 
vate the  summer  wood-pile  from  the  snow-drift.  It 
was  not  yet  broad  daylight.  Groping  about  in  the  semi- 
darkness,  I  began  to  realize  how  cold  it  was.  Brisk 
exercise  kept  me  perfectly  comfortable,  but  how  frosty 
the  hackmatacks,  how  arctic  the  mountains,  and  how 
quiet  and  cold  the  intervale  itself  appeared! 

The  sky  gradually  grew  brighter  and,  as  I  was  car- 
rying in  the  last  snow-caked  armful  of  wood,  Old 
Sol's  welcome  face  appeared  over  Paugus.  We 
placed  the  sticks  behind  and  under  the  stove  to  dry  and 
sat  down  to  a  hearty  meal  of  steamed  baked  beans  and 
coffee.  Before  the  meal  was  over  I  noticed  that  the 
unconsumed  beans  were  coated  with  white  and  that  they 
had  frozen  solid  while  we  were  eating.  The  butter 
and  the  water  in  the  pail  were  also  frozen  solid. 

Breakfast  over,  we  soon  had  the  dishes  washed. 
Next  we  made  the  bed  and  swept  the  floor.  Every 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      311 

time  we  opened  our  back  door,  which  faces  the  west, 
the  wind  would  send  a  shower  of  snow  across  the 
floor.  This,  as  well  as  the  snow  which  we  tracked  in, 
never  melted  during  our  entire  stay. 

The  wind  had  swept  the  sky  clear  of  clouds,  and  the 
day  was  a  perfect  one.  At  short  intervals,  gusts  of 
wind  would  come  sweeping  down  from  Mt.  Hancock. 
We  could  follow  the  progress  of  these  gusts  as  they 
swept  over  the  mountains,  for,  from  each  peak  as  the 
wind  struck  it,  a  tiny  cloud  of  snow  would  rise  some- 
what resembling  the  banner-cloud  of  the  Matterhorn. 

Contrasted  with  the  dark  pines,  the  snow  seemed 
even  whiter  and  more  glistening  than  I  ever  had  seen 
it  before.  Passaconaway,  whose  snow-clad  slide  pierces 
its  very  heart,  loomed  up  supreme.  Then,  too,  the 
dark,  bluish-green  northern  peaks  formed  a  beauti- 
ful and  restful  background  for  the  sparkling  meadow 
in  the  foreground.  The  ledge-capped  mountains,  Tre- 
mont,  Owl's  Head,  Potash,  Bald,  and  Chocorua,  were 
gorgeous,  especially  when  the  sun  struck  certain  cliffs 
at  just  the  right  angle,  making  them  scintillate  like 
gems  of  the  first  magnitude.  The  long  stretches  of 
pine  forest  mantled  with  snow  added  the  finishing 
touches  to  this  wonderful  picture,  a  sight  never  to  be 
erased  from  one's  memory. 

A  day  of  such  rare  qualities  must  be  made  the  most 
of.  So,  with  rifle  and  compass,  we  started  out  for 
Allen's  Ledge.  When  the  ground  is  bare  we  can  make 
this  ledge  in  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  On  the  un- 
certain crust,  however,  we  spent  thirty  minutes  in 
crossing  the  field  before  even  striking  into  the  woods. 


312  Passaconaway 

In  the  woods,  the  walking  was  even  worse.  For  a 
few  steps  the  crust  would  bear  us  up,  and  then  down 
we  would  go  to  a  depth  of  a  foot  or  two.  The  snow 
had  covered  all  the  bushes  and  completely  obliterated 
the  path.  But,  plunging  into  the  woods  at  Camp  Com- 
fort, we  started  on  the  climb.  It  was  not  long  be- 
fore our  heavy  sheep-skin  coats  became  uncomfortably 
heavy  and  hot.  The  toilsome  ascent  in  the  soft  snow 
made  us  pant  and  we  ate  snow  to  cool  off. 

After  we  had  gone  quite  a  distance,  it  seemed  to  me 
that  we  were  too  far  to  the  westward.  So  we  changed 
our  course,  going  in  a  more  easterly  direction.  This 
was  a  mistake.  Had  we  continued  but  a  few  rods 
farther  on  our  original  course,  we  should  have  reached 
our  goal.  Instead  of  doing  this,  however,  what  we 
really  did  was  to  "slab"  the  side  of  Hedgehog  in 
a  southeasterly  direction.  By  and  by,  we  saw,  through 
the  leafless  trees,  a  high  ridge  above  us.  With  fresh 
courage  we  dashed  up  the  heights  until  we  came  out 
upon  the  top.  Here,  to  our  surprise,  we  found  that, 
instead  of  being  on  Allen's  Ledge,  we  were  on  top 
of  Hedgehog,  a  mountain  of  respectable  height — espe- 
cially if  climbed  in  a  deep  snow  with  "felts"  on.  One 
comes  to  appreciate  the  height  of  these  summits  after 
he  actually  has  ascended  them.  We  drank  in  the  re- 
freshing air,  studied  the  view  as  best  we  could,  and 
noted  the  abundance  of  fresh  deer  tracks  all  about. 

About  noon  we  'heard  a  distant  yet  clear  jingling 
of  sleigh-bells  and,  upon  looking  down  into  the 
Downes  Brook  Valley,  we  could  see  a  road  far  below 
us,  running  parallel  with  the  brook.  We  descended 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      313 

rather  laboriously  to  this  road.  In  going  down-hill  our 
"felts"  went  down  easily  enough,  but  pulling  them 
out  of  the  snow  for  the  next  step  was  a  different  propo- 
sition. At  last  we  reached  the  "Downes  Brook  Tote 
Road."  It  was  Sunday,  but  sleighs  and  pungs  bobbed 
to  and  fro,  and  we  met  scores  of  pedestrians. 

Rounding  a  turn  in  the  road,  we  came  upon  a  few 
tar-paper  shanties.  The  walls  were  of  logs,  locked 
together  at  the  corners  of  the  buildings.  The  doors, 
roofs,  and  in  one  or  two  cases  the  entire  cabin,  were 
covered  with  tarred  paper.  Leaves,  dirt,  and  snow 
were  banked  tightly  around  the  sills  to  keep  out  the 
wind.  From  a  chimney  made  out  of  a  nail-keg  smoke 
curled  upwards.  From  the  fragrant  odors  issuing 
through  the  open  door  of  this  building  we  knew  it 
must  be  the  kitchen  or  cook-room  of  the  camp.  In 
front  of  several  of  the  shanties  were  little  groups  of 
lumbermen,  sitting  on  boxes,  bags  or  overcoats,  play- 
ing cards  in  the  bright  sunshine.  A  short  distance  down 
the  road  we  turned  around  and  took  a  picture  of  the 
camp,  but  only  one  cabin  came  out  well  in  the 
photograph. 

We  reached  our  piazza  about  three  o'clock.  The 
fire  was  quickly  re-kindled  and,  putting  the  kettle,  half 
full  of  ice,  on  the  stove,  we  set  the  table.  Bob  had 
some  baked  beans  and  I,  for  a  change,  had  half  a  dozen 
slices  of  bacon,  slightly  blackened  by  the  hot  fire.  That 
evening  we  sat  up  long  enough  to  get  the  two  stoves 
red  hot.  Then,  placing  the  water-pail  between  them 
and  casting  an  anxious  look  at  the  mercury,  we 
turned  in. 


314  Passaconaway 

Dark  clouds  were  skimming  across  the  frigid  sky 
and  the  wind  had  risen  again.  Remembering  how  cold 
it  had  been  the  night  before,  I  placed  the  sleeping- 
bag  under  the  mountain  of  bed-clothes  and  crawled  into 
it.  The  harder  the  wind  blew  and  the  more  violently 
the  little  house  shook,  the  more  we  enjoyed  our  ad- 
venture. We  were  tired  after  our  day  of  trudging 
through  the  snow  and  soon  fell  asleep. 

Monday  morning  dawned  intensely  cold.  A  bliz- 
zard was  raging,  and  nothing,  not  even  the  row  of 
hackmatacks,  close  at  hand,  was  visible.  It  was  like 
being  in  a  boat  enveloped  in  a  thick  fog,  for  not  even 
the  white  fields  about  us  could  be  seen.  The  snow 
drove  against  our  little  cottage  as  if  determined  to 
penetrate  its  walls. 

We  remained  in  bed  until  noon,  when,  "tired  of  rest- 
ing," we  mustered  up  our  courage  enough  to  jump 
out.  The  two  fires  were  barely  smoldering.  The 
water-pail  contained  a  solid  piece  of  ice,  and  the  ther- 
mometer affirmed  that  the  temperature  was  fourteen 
below.  Each  cooked  his  own  meal.  Bob  again  dined 
on  beans.  I  fried  a  good  mess  of  onions.  Each  drank 
two  cups  of  coffee. 

We  played  checkers  awhile.  Then  Bob  drew  car- 
toons on  postcards  to  send  home  by  the  next  mail, 
while  I  sat  by  admiringly.  About  two  o'clock  a  loud 
thumping  and  stamping  on  the  porch  announced  a  wel- 
come visitor.  In  walked  Tom  S ,  a  congenial 

neighbor  of  our  own  age.  This  injected  new  life  into 
our  drooping  spirits,  and  even  if  the  wind  did  sift 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      315 

in  through  innumerable  cracks,  we  managed,  by  hug- 
ging the  stove,  to  have  a  mighty  good  time  and  to 
keep  a  laugh  from  freezing.  In  the  midst  of  our 
jollity  we  heard  another  pounding  and  in  walked  the 

postmaster,  young  Mr.  P .  I  tell  you  there  is  not 

everybody  who  is  honored  in  the  midst  of  a  mountain 
blizzard  with  a  call  from  a  member  of  the  Great  and 
General  Court  of  New  Hampshire.  What  a  good 
chat  we  had!  All  too  soon,  however,  this  congenial 
little  party  was  broken  up,  for  at  dark,  about  half- 
past  four,  our  companions  left  for  their  homes. 

About  half-past  six  Bob  and  I  sat  down  to  our  sup- 
per, a  delicious  meal  of  fried  onions,  chipped  beef, 
deviled  ham  and  coffee.  Coffee  was  one  thing  we  could 
make  to  perfection.  Then,  recalling  the  ancient  say- 
ing that  "a  poor  excuse  is  better  than  none,"  we  set 
out  for  the  hotel  to  "mail  our  letters."  The  warmth 
of  the  hotel  was  equal  to  that  of  Saturday  night  and 
we  did  hate  to  leave,  a  couple  of  hours  later.  Here 
we  could  take  off  our  "mits"  and  have  no  fear  of  blue 
fingers.  We  listened  to  stories  of  the  valley  until  our 
consciences  told  us  that  it  was  high  time  to  return  to 
the  cottage. 

Although  it  was  not  so  cold  as  on  the  previous  night, 
we  went  to  bed  in  the  midst  of  a  noise  like  that  of 
bedlam.  The  windows,  doors,  and  very  roof  creaked 
and  rattled  and  seemed  to  be  straining  at  every  nail 
to  free  themselves  from  their  iron  fetters.  The 
whistling  of  the  cold  wind  and  the  straining  of  the 
house  reminded  me  of  the  experience  of  the  party 


3 1 6  Passaconaway 

which  spent  a  winter  on  Mount  Washington.2  The 
members  of  that  party  found  that  the  noise  of  the 
incessant  wind  became  an  almost  unbearable  strain  upon 
the  nerves. 

A  warm,  dazzling  sun  beating  into  our  faces,  woke 
us  next  morning.  The  sun  was  so  welcome,  the  wind 
so  still  and  the  bed  clothes  so  warm  that  we  had  noth- 
ing to  rouse  us  from  our  perfect  contentment.  We 
just  lay  there,  as  Harry  Lauder  says,  "doing  nothin' 
and  wasting  our  time."  About  half-past  ten  a  thump- 
ing and  pounding  told  us  that  "Jim"  was  there,  but 
bed  was  too  inviting.  We  watched  him  drive  up  the 
Old  Mast  Road  and  bring  back  to  our  piazza  several 
sled-loads  of  wood,  before  we  felt  in  duty  bound  to 
get  up  and  greet  him. 

Although  not  the  perfect  day  of  Sunday,  yet  it  glad- 
dened a  pair  of  campers'  hearts.  The  deep  snow  glit- 
tered, and  every  little  while  the  wind  would  sweep 
it  across  the  valley  in  a  cloud  and  would  rattle  the 
snow  against  the  house  and  windows  like  hail.  All 
day  long  we  could  see  the  mountains  flying  their  white 
flags. 

The  mercury  registered  twenty-four  below.  We 
lost  no  time  in  piling  up  the  wood  which  "Jim"  had 
brought.  While  reaching  above  his  head,  Bob  acci- 
dently  knocked  down  a  package  of  butter.  With  a 
resounding  thud  it  struck  the  floor.  But  the  butter 
was  so  solidly  frozen  that  the  floor  made  no  impres- 
sion upon  it.  Whenever  we  needed  butter  for  imme- 

2  See    Mount    Washington    in    Winter,    by    J.    H.    Huntington    and 
others. 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      317 

diate  use,  we  would  cut  off  a  corner  by  hammering  a 
knife  through  the  lump. 

On  the  eastern  end  of  the  porch,  partially  sheltered 
from  the  wind  and  blowing  snow,  we  engaged  in  a 
shooting-match,  spending  a  portion  of  the  morning 
thus.  The  guns  were  scarcely  cleaned  and  oiled  when 
Tom  put  in  an  appearance.  In  the  afternoon  it  com- 
menced to  snow  hard  again.  Jim  came  over  and  re- 
galed us  with  stories.  The  hours  slipped  away  enjoy- 
ably,  though  not  comfortably,  for  it  was  bitingly  cold 
in  spite  of  the  two  fires  in  the  house.  Jim  left  at  dark, 
but  Tom  and  I  got  to  reminiscing,  narrating  anecdotes 
and  swapping  "Old  Jack"  stones. 

Loath  to  break  up  our  conversation,  Bob  had  vol- 
unteered to  go  over  to  the  Passaconaway  House  for 
the  mail  and  water.  The  mail  goes  and  comes  every 
Tuesday,  Thursday,  and  Saturday.  Unfortunately  he 
brought  back  news  that  we  must  return  the  next  day. 
Under  such  conditions  a  bed  seemed  welcome,  so  after 
Tom  left,  at  midnight,  I  retired.  The  mercury  was 
see-sawing  around  the  thirty-below  mark  and  the  wind 
seemed  to  penetrate  to  our  very  vitals. 

Bob  had  received  several  very  interesting  letters  and 
remained  a  few  minutes  to  read  them.  At  length  he 
came  upstairs  and  had  just  put  on  his  pajamas  when 
I  reminded  him  that  he  had  not  extinguished  the  lamp 
downstairs.  Down  he  went,  bare-footed,  on  the  frosty 
stairs  and  floor,  blew  out  the  light  and  scampered  up- 
stairs "as  fast  as  two  Jack-rabbits."  For  a  long  time 
after  I  could  hear  him  tossing  and  turning  in  an  en- 
deavor to  warm  his  feet. 


318  Passaconaway 

Wednesday  morning  was  as  clear  as  a  bell  and  cold 
— thirty-five  degrees  below  zero  tells  the  story !  After 
a  hot  breakfast  we  packed  the  trunk.  Then,  taking 
the  camera,  we  struck  across  the  field  to  the  lumber- 
railroad.  On  previous  days  we  had  seen  the  smoke 
of  the  engines  as  they  plied  back  and  forth,  but,  ex- 
cept in  very  few  places,  they  were  hidden  from  us 
by  the  huge  banks  the  snow-plow  had  thrown  up.  In 
places  we  could  walk  easily,  but  just  as  we  were  about 
to  think  how  fortunate  we  were,  down  we  would  go, 
the  full  length  of  our  leg,  and  even  then  not  reach 
the  solid  ground.  In  the  fields  the  average  depth  of 
snow  was  at  least  four  feet;  while  at  the  edge  of  the 
woods  drifts  about  the  pines  and  spruces  were  far 
higher  than  our  heads.  These  little  hills  of  sparkling 
white  to  the  northwestward  of  every  little  tree  pre- 
sented a  beautiful  picture.  Wherever  it  was  possible, 
we  kept  in  the  valleys  or  the  hollow  spaces  between 
these  snow-dunes,  but  often  we  were  forced  to  cross 
a  drift  and  that  was  a  task  long  to  be  remembered, 
but  not  to  be  unnecessarily  repeated.  We  would  sink 
so  deep  at  every  step  that  it  was  all  but  impossible 
to  extricate  ourselves  from  the  soft  snow.  Upon  reach- 
ing the  ridge  made  by  the  snow-plow  we  nearly  came 
to  a  standstill.  So  soft  and  deep  was  this  ridge  that 
the  more  we  struggled  to  force  our  way  through  it,  the 
deeper  we  sank.  Once  or  twice  we  fell  down.  Per- 
severance at  length  won  and  we  stepped  out  upon  the 
smooth  road-bed. 

Locomotive  "No. 2"  stood  before  us,  lazily  steam- 
ing and  smoking,  a  mere  toy  as  compared  with  the 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      319 

huge  locomotives  such  as  whisk  our  "Twentieth  Cen- 
tury" trains  along;  but,  for  a  dwarf,  it  is  a  powerful 
little  kettle  and  strong  and  fast  enough  for  this  humpy 
little  railroad.  We  took  several  snapshots  of  Tom's 
brother,  the  brakeman,  the  engine,  and  of  each  other 
perched  on  the  unique  logging  cars.  We  followed  the 
track  for  half  a  mile  or  more  and  then  returned. 

The  thermometer  was  taken  down,  we  washed  up 
(for  the  first  time  since  coming  into  the  intervale), 
got  into  our  city  clothes,  and,  locking  up,  bade  adieu 
to  the  dear  little  cottage,  and  waded  over  to  the  hotel 
for  dinner. 

While  we  were  dressing  up,  Fred  Sawyer's  pung, 
from  Conway,  swung  into  the  hotel  driveway.  Be- 
cause of  our  hasty  departure  we  could  procure  no 
conveyance  in  the  neighborhood  and,  therefore,  had 
communicated  with  Mr.  Sawyer  by  telephone.  We  all 
sat  down  to  a  piping  hot  dinner,  served  with  a  salad 
of  stories.  I  recall  only  one  of  these  stories.  In 
substance  it  was  as  follows : — "Not  long  ago  there 
came  a  couple  of  stormy  days,  followed  by  a  holiday 
and  a  Sunday.  After  three  days  of  loafing  the  lum- 
berjacks sat  back  in  their  chairs  and  refused  to  work 
on  Sunday.  The  boss,  a  little  man,  noted  for  his 
energy  and  efficiency,  came  in  and  delivered  an  ulti- 
matum to  the  effect  that  the  company  had  been  pay- 
ing out  large  sums  of  money  to  feed  them  all  the 
while  they  had  been  loafing,  so  that  to-day  they  must 
get  out  and  work,  even  if  it  was  the  Sabbath.  Sev- 
eral of  the  'half-way'  men  went  to  work,  but  the  others, 
great  surly  giants,  never  left  their  places  by  the  stove. 


320  Passaconaway 

The  boss  informed  them  that  he  would  give  them  just 
five  minutes  to  go  to  work.  Not  one  of  them  had 
stirred  when  the  fourth  minute  had  passed,  whereupon 
the  little  man  procured  from  the  storehouse  a  stick 
of  dynamite  and  a  piece  of  fuse.  Placing  these  under 
the  cabin  and  lighting  the  fuse,  he  informed  the  mu- 
tineers of  their  situation.  In  the  wink  of  an  eye  the 
camp  was  emptied  and  with  shouldered  axes  the  recalci- 
trants hastened  to  their  work.  Calmly  the  boss 
stamped  out  the  lighted  fuse  and  put  the  dynamite  back 
into  the  storehouse." 

After  dinner  we  bade  our  generous  hosts  "Good-bye 
until  next  summer,"  and,  bundling  up  warmly,  were 
soon  whisked  down  the  road,  round  the  turn,  and  the 
hotel  was  lost  to  view.  I  don't  think  I  ever  rode 
behind  a  finer  pair  of  horses  than  on  that  downward 
trip.  They  kept  up  a  steady,  swift  gait  for  the  whole 
sixteen  miles.  Up-hill  and  down-hill  and  around  curves 
we  fairly  flew.  Now  we  were  balancing  at  the  Devil's 
Jump,  as  if  pausing  for  a  new  start  down  the  other 
side  of  Spruce  Hill.  At  length  the  Ham  Farm  was 
reached  and  from  here  on  we  reeled  off  mile  after  mile 
of  wriggling  road. 

Yet  none  too  quickly  did  we  travel.  So  clear  was  it 
that  almost  every  tree  on  the  mountains  was  visible. 
But  the  cold  was  indescribably  biting.  My  foot  seemed 
to  be  asleep,  and  Bob's  nose  and  chin  were  beginning  to 
look  chalky.  By  stamping  my  feet  I  was  able  to  revive 
them,  and  by  continually  clenching  my  mittened  fists 
and  driving  them  deep  into  my  pockets  I  could  keep 
them  from  stiffening.  I  noticed  that  my  companion  was 


Forty  below  Zero  in  Passaconaway-Land      321 

similarly  occupied.  But  for  the  cold  we  might  have 
enjoyed  this  wonderful  ride.  Vainly  did  I  try  to  point 
out  Washington  and  several  of  the  other  noted  peaks, 
but  all  to  no  avail;  my  chum  would  not  even  turn  his 
stiff  neck  to  view  them.  At  length  he  remarked  that 
all  the  information  he  desired  was  to  know  just  how 
far  we  were  from  the  station. 

At  W.  Colby  Chase's  we  saw  his  cattle  standing  in 
four  feet  of  snow,  all  huddled  together  and  emitting 
clouds  of  steam.  From  Mr.  Chase's  we  had  a  fine 
view  of  the  Peak  House,  perched  high  up  on  the  icy 
ridge  which  runs  up  into  Chocorua's  jagged  tooth. 

Now  we  pounded  and  thumped  our  benumbed  limbs 
and  now,  like  tortured  martyrs,  we  patiently  endured 
the  cold.  If  only  we  could  have  gotten  out  and  walked 
for  a  stretch — but  we  had  no  time  to  lose  if  we  were  to 
catch  the  train  for  Boston. 

There  never  existed  a  more  thankful  pair  than  we 
were  when  we  rounded  Potter's  Farm  and  pranced 
down  the  streets  of  Conway  towards  the  station.  Al- 
though the  ride  down  from  Passaconaway  took  only 
two  hours,  the  ride  up  in  the  blizzard  had  been  a  negli- 
gible quantity  compared  with  this  cold.  On  the  follow- 
ing morning  the  thermometers  reached  forty-six  de- 
grees below  zero  in  the  mountain  region,  and  during 
our  ride  it  must  have  been  forty  below.  After  entering 
the  train  we  found  Bob's  face  to  be  slightly  frost- 
bitten. My  heel  did  not  get  thawed  out  much  before 
we  reached  Portsmouth. 

It  is  long  after  dark  when  our  train  pulls  into  the 
North  Station,  Boston.  Once  more  we  are  home  from 


322  Passaconaway 

the  mountains.  But  how  different  has  this  trip  been 
from  those  with  which  hitherto  we  have  been  familiar 
— our  annual  summer  pilgrimages !  And  now,  having 
returned  in  safety  from  our  winter  expedition  of 
nineteen-hundred-and-almost-froze-to-death,  let  us  bid 
adieu,  until  next  July,  to  Passaconaway  and  to  Pas- 
saconaway-land  in  the  White  Mountains. 


INDEX 


Abbott,  John  S.  C.,  Life  and 
Adventures  of  Miles  Stand- 
ish,  196. 

Adams,  Annals  of  Portsmouth, 
352. 

Adams,  Mount,  131. 

Adirondacks,   168. 

Adventures,  A  Chapter  of, 
248-272. 

Agamenticus,  Mount,  47,  48. 

Agawams   (Indians),   13. 

Agiocochook,  Mount,  49,  50. 

Ahawayetsquaine,  59. 

Albany,  N.  H.,  51,  99,  104, 
no,  in,  113,  132,  146, 
157.  159,  161,  171,  178, 
179,  1 80,  182,  184,  1 86, 
193,  195,  196,  200,  208, 
Chapter  XIII,  pp.  210-247, 
248,  276,  284,  287,  294, 
302. 

Albany,  N.  Y.,  36,  83,  230. 

Albany  Haystack,  144. 

Alexander,  55. 

Algonquin,  32. 

Allard,  217,  218,  219,  232. 

Allen,  Jack,  no,  166,  173, 
183,  238,  241,  263,  266, 
Chapter  XV,  pp.  273-300, 

307,  317- 

Allen's  Ledge,  182,  183,  184, 
253,  312. 


Allen's  Mill,  247. 

Amariscoggin  River,  70. 

Amariscoggins  (Indians),  13, 
88,  94- 

American  Antiquarian  Society, 
Collections  of,  68. 

American  Biography,  Cyclo- 
paedia of,  by  Appleton, 
168. 

American  Colonies,  Quakers 
in,  by  Rufus  Jones,  90. 

American  Institute  of  In- 
struction Path,  99. 

Among  the  Clouds,  173,   180. 

Among  the  Hills,  Whittier, 
132. 

Amorisgelu,  Mount,   164. 

Amoskeag  Falls,  21,  61. 

Anderson,  Mount,  142,  143, 
162,  163,  164,  165. 

Andras,  Captain,  96. 

Andros,  Sir  Edmund,  62,  85, 
87. 

Androscoggins   (Indians),  78. 

Anne's,  Queen,  War,  97. 

Annis,  221,  238,  239,  284, 
285,  307- 

Appalachia,     103,     115,     172, 

173,  177- 

Appalachian  Mountain  Club, 
99,  1 10,  139,  161,  163,  165, 
169,  1 80,  1 86,  239,  242. 


323 


324 


Index 


Appalachian  Mountain  Club 
Guide,  159,  160,  161,  162, 
164,  165,  166,  167,  168, 
172. 

Appalachian  Mountain  Re- 
serve, 235. 

Appleton's  Cyclopaedia  of 
American  Biography,  168. 

Armes,  Ethel  Marie,  153. 

Aspenquid,  Saint,  48. 

Atlantic  Ocean,  no. 

At  the  North  of  Bearcarnp 
Water,  by  Frank  Bolles, 
102,  103,  115,  116,  118, 
119,  130,  141,  146,  158, 
171,  192,  195,  202,  208, 
234,  238,  242. 

Augusta,  Me.,  282. 


Balanced  Boulder,  178. 

Bald  Mt.,  115,  122,  134,  135, 
137,  138,  139,  183,  195, 
269,  311. 

Baldface,  Mount,  143. 

Barbadoes,  59,   72,  79,  85. 

Barefoot,  Walter,  84. 

Bartlett,  159,  161,  169,  213, 
223,  234,  239. 

Bartlett  Haystack,  143,  158, 
159,  1 60,  264. 

Bartlett  Indians,   155. 

Bartlett  Land  and  Lumber 
Company,  159,  234. 

Bashaba,  13,  15,  17,  21,  23, 
24,  25,  27,  31,  32,  33,  35, 
36,  37,  39,  41,  46,  47,  49, 
5i,  52,  53,  54,  57,  58,  62, 
64,  68,  73,  74,  79,  80.  81, 
82,  83,  85,  97,  102,  105. 


Beals,  Rev.  Charles  Edward, 
Intro.,  243,  275. 

Bear,  19,  42,  48,  109,  in, 
112,  113,  129,  153,  172, 
J83,  195,  198,  200,  218, 
219,  236,  245,  247,  248, 
260,  261,  269,  287,  290, 
291,  293,  294. 

Bear  Mt.,  143,  157,  158,  159, 
179,  234,  239,  276,  284, 
291,  294. 

Bear,  The  Truce  of  the,  by 
Kipling,  219. 

Bearcamp,  145. 

Bearcarnp  Water,  At  the 
North  of,  by  Frank  Bolles, 
102,  103,  115,  116,  118, 
119,  130,  141,  146,  158, 
171,  192,  195,  202,  208, 
234,  238,  242. 

Beavers,     19,    48,    196,    211, 

220. 

Beckytown,  174,  175. 

Beede,  215. 

Belknap,  Jeremy,  History  of 
New  Hampshire,  12,  19,  25, 
27,  30,  31,  36,  41,  62,  73, 
83,  84,  89,  93,  97,  98,  204, 

2O5,   2O6,  2O7,   2IO. 

The  same,   Farmer's  Edition, 

78,    79,    80,    83,    84,    85, 

86. 

Belknap,  Mount,   145. 
Bemis,  162,  163. 
Bent,   A   Bibliography   of  the 

White  Mountains,  148. 
Berry,  Nathaniel,  208. 
Bibliography     of    the     White 

Mountains,  by  Bent,  148. 
Bickford,  234,  247. 


Indey 


325 


Birch  Intervale,  51,  76,  105, 
208. 

Birch  Ridge,  157,  234. 

Black  William,  53,  54. 

Blackcap,  144. 

Blow-down,  A,  250,  251, 
252. 

Blue  Ridge,  142. 

Bodge,  George  M.,  King 
Philip's  War,  89. 

Bodreau,  241. 

Bolles,  At  the  North  of  Bear- 
camp  Water,  IO2,  103,  115, 
116,  118,  119,  130,  141, 
146,  158,  170,  171,  192, 
201,  202,  208,  234,  238, 
242. 

Bolles,  Chocorua's  Tenants, 
113,  114,  166. 

Bolles,  Land  of  the  Lingering 
Snow,  115,  116. 

Bolles  Trail,  241. 

Bond,   Mount,    142. 

Border  Wars  of  New  Eng- 
land, Samuel  Adams  Drake, 
86,  89. 

Boston,  30,  31,  34,  37,  43,  53, 
58,  61,  62,  65,  70,  72,  77, 
no,  121,  131,  191,  226, 
230,  232,  239,  241,  283, 
297,  298,  321. 

Boston  Evening  Post,  98. 

Boston  Public  Library,  Bulle- 
tin, 120. 

Boston   Transcript,  153,  272. 

Boston  Traveller,  76. 

Bounty  on  Bears,  248. 

Bouton,  Nathaniel,  History  of 
Concord,  27,  32,  37,  51,  52, 
55,  58,  60,  76. 


Provincial  Papers  of  New 
Hampshire,  30,  31,  61,  62, 
74,  89. 

Bowser,  Horace  F.,  pictures 
by,  opp.  pp.  178,  194, 
224. 

Bradley,  Isaac,  97. 

Braintree,  31. 

Brenton,  William,  43. 

Brewster,   Charles,    159,   264. 

Brickhouse  Mt.,   162. 

Bridal  of  Pennacook,  The,  by 
Whittier,  55,  56,  57. 

Bride  of  Burton,  Caverly, 
148. 

Bridgewater,   146. 

Bridgewater,  Battle  of,  223. 

Broad  Arrow,  116,  202,  203, 
204,  205,  208,  210. 

Broughton,  234. 

Brown,  216. 

Browne,  George  Waldo,  75. 

Brownfield,  144. 

Brunswick,  Me.,  79. 

Bulletin,  Boston  Public  Li- 
brary, 1 20. 

"Bumblebee,"  241,  242. 

Burbank,  221,  234,  235. 

Bureau  of  American  Ethnol- 
ogy: Handbook  of  Ameri- 
can Indians,  by  Flagg,  12, 
13,  1 6,  60,  72,  96. 

Burnt-Meadow  Mt.,  144. 

Burton,  211,  212,  213,  216, 
217,  218,  221,  223,  230, 
231,  247. 

Burton,  The  Bride  of,  Caver- 
ly, 148. 

Butler,  A.  A.,  175,  177. 

Byron,  Manfred,  49. 


326 


Index 


Cambridge,  Mass.,  236,  243. 
Camel's  Hump,  169. 
Camp  Comfort,  190,  248,  312. 
Campbell,      Cornelius,      147, 

148,  211. 

Canada,   94,    128,    149,    168, 

277. 
Canadian     Lynx,     106,     134, 

199,  200. 
Canadians,  73,  153,  241,  265, 

267,  281. 
Capture  of  Highwaymen,  252- 

253- 

Carlton,  242,  243,  244,  246. 
Carrigain  House,  238,  294. 
Carrigain,  Mt.,  113,  142,  161, 

162,    163,    165,    166,    167, 

1 68,  169,  183,  264. 
Carroll  County,  51,  221. 
Carroll    County,   History    of, 

by  Georgia  Drew  Merrill, 

II,    12,    26,    100,    117,    120, 

121,    147,    148,    149,    210, 

211,     213,    214,    215,    2l6, 

219,  230,  232,  233,  234, 
238,  247,  248,  257,  271, 
272. 

Carter,  247. 

Cascades,  174. 

Casco,  Me.,  95,  97. 

Caverly,  The  Bride  of  Bur- 
ton, 148. 

Cedar  Swamp,  100. 

Chamberlain,  John,  125,  126. 

Champney,  132,  133,  134, 
135,  136,  169. 

Charlton,  Edwin  A.,  New 
Hampshire  as  It  Is,  15,  30, 
31,  72,  80,  89,  121,  122, 

149,  211,    247. 


Chase,  237,  247,  305,  321. 

Chase,  Francis,  Gathered 
Sketches  from  the  Early 
History  of  New  Hampshire 
and  Vermont,  121. 

Chelmsford,   60,   66,   67,   73, 

75- 

Chicago,  138,  245,  300. 
Chichester,  167. 
Child,  Lydia  Maria,  147,  148. 
Chocorua,  11,  28,  Chap.  VII, 

130-156,     211,     216,     224, 

230. 
Chocorua,   Mount,    102,    no, 

in,    115,    116,    118,    119, 

122,    129,   Chap.   VII,   pp. 

130-156,     158,     160,     168, 

179,    182,    183,    202,    211, 

251,   252,   273,    301,    309, 

3",  32i. 
Chocorua's     Tenants,     Frank 

Bolles,  113,  114,  1 66. 
Chronicles,  Massachusetts,  by 

Alexander  Young,  55. 
Chubbuck,   Isaac  Y.,   177. 
Church,     Captain     Benjamin, 

94,  95,  96,  loo. 
Church,    Charles,     186,     193, 

237- 

Church  Falls,  186,  192. 
Church,  Frederic  Edwin,  186. 
Church,     Philip's    War,    95, 

96. 
Church  Pond,  169,  Chap.  XI, 

pp.  193-201,  228,  290. 
Clarke,  Frank  Wigglesworth, 

246. 
Clarke,  Helen  A.,  Poet's  New 

England,  56. 
Cleveland,  245. 


Index 


327 


Clinton,   Mount,    143. 

Cloud-burst,  of  1912,  256. 

Clouds  on  Whiteface,  180, 
1*1. 

Cobb's  Ford,  159. 

Cocheco  (see  Dover). 

Coffin,  45,  46,  89,  92,  93- 

Colbath,  Mrs.,  104,  166,  182, 
195,  225,  236,  237,  238, 
241,  247,  265,  307. 

Golden,  Cadwallader,  History 
of  the  Five  Nations,  New 
York,  1727,  1 6. 

Collections  American  Antiqua- 
rian Society,  68. 

Colonial  Dames,  Massachu- 
setts Society  of,  75. 

Colonial  Life  in  New  Hamp- 
shire, by  James  H.  Fassett, 
127. 

Coman,  Katharine,  Industrial 
History  of  the  United 
States,  205. 

Concord  (Pennacook),  13,  14, 

15,  16,  30,  51,  58,  65,  75, 
80,  167,  216,  236,  244. 

Concord,  History  of,  by 
Bouton,  27,  32,  51,  52,  55, 
58,  60,  76. 

Concord,  History  of,  by  James 
O.  Lyford,  12,  13,  14,  15, 

16,  20,  21,  25,  32,  33,  34, 
35,  36,  37,  39,  43,  45,  46, 
51,  56,  61,  64,  65,  68,  69, 
70,  72,  73,  74,  76. 

Concord  and  Northern  Rail- 
road, 51,  76. 

Confederacy,  11,  13,  17,  20, 
21,  53- 

Connecticut,  69,  188. 


Conway,  92,  140,  144,  147, 
172,  177,  191,  213,  219, 

22O,  221,  222,  225,  232, 

233,  234,  236,  238,  239, 
241,  244,  245,  247,  252, 
253,  257,  258,  301,  302, 

^303,    319,   321. 

Conway     Lumber     Company, 

234,  235,  238,  241,  265. 
Coolidge  and  Mansfield,  His- 
tory    and     Description     of 
New  En g land,  33,  44,  99, 
126,   211,   2l6,  217,  247. 

Coosaukes    (Indians),    13. 

Copple  Crown,   145. 

Cornish,  145. 

"Cow,  The,"  139,   146. 

Cowper,  The  Task,  179. 

Cragged  Mt.,   144. 

Cranfield,  Governor,  80,  81, 
82,  83,  84. 

Crawford,   167. 

Crawford,  Mount,  143. 

Crosbe,  216. 

Crystal  Hills,   184. 

Cummings,  William,   122. 

Cutshamekin,  34. 

Cyclopaedia  of  American  Bi- 
ography, by  D.  Appleton, 
1 68. 

Dana,  Professor,  216. 

Danforth,  86. 

Dartmouth,  167,  216. 

Deception,  Mount,  143. 

Deer,  48,  109,  115,  138,  196, 
J97,  *98»  201,  224,  229, 
231,  261,  262,  263,  269, 
273,  285,  286,  288,  289, 
290,  292,  293. 


328 


Index 


Deer  Island,  58. 

Deer   Ponds,   Chap.   XI,  pp. 

193-201,  228. 
Deerfield,  34. 
Deering,  247. 
"Devil's    Jump,"    305,     306, 

320. 
"Devil's     Wash-basin/'     187, 

1 88. 

Dickinson,  45,  47. 
Discovery    of  America,    John 

Fiske,  1 6,  32. 
Dissertation   upon  Roast  Pig, 

by  Charles  Lamb,  269. 
Double-Head,  143. 
Dover,  34,  45,  50,  60,  70,  72, 

73,  74,  86,  88,  89,  90,  98, 

99,  215,  297,  299. 
Douglas,  John,  247. 
Downes  Brook,  106,  107,  112, 

257,   259,    312,    313- 
Drake,   Frederick  T.,   picture 

by,  opp.  p.  140. 
Drake,    Samuel   Adams,   Bor- 
der Wars  of  New  England, 

86,  89. 
Drake,  Samuel  Adams,  Heart 

of    the   White    Mountains, 

132,   149- 
Drake,   Samuel   Adams,  New 

England  Legends  and  Folk 

Lore,  56,  130,  131,  149. 
Drake,  Samuel  G.,  Indians  of 
'    North  America,  24,  32,  35, 

36,  37,  39,  55,  58,  59,  65, 

68,  69,  70,  72,  75,  77,  85, 

89,  91,  95,  96,  120. 
Drake,  Samuel  G.,  Old  Indian 

Chronicles,  55. 
Dudley,  Governor,  97. 


Dunstable,  73,  120,  124,  128. 

Dutch,    203. 

Dutch    and   Quaker    Colonies 

in  America,  by  John  Fiske, 

69- 


Eagle  and  Rabbit,  248,  249, 
250. 

Eagle  Ledge,  144. 

East  Branch,  166. 

East  of  the  White  Hills,  M. 
E.  Eastman,  146,  148. 

Eastman,  M.  E.,  East  of  the 
White  Hills,  146,  148. 

Eaton,  no,  212,  216,  219. 

Economic  and  Social  History 
of  New  England,  William 
B.  Weeden,  116,  202,  203, 
204,  207,  208. 

Edson  Cemetery,  Lowell 
Mass.,  51. 

Effingham,  145. 

Elijah,  50. 

Eliot,  John  (The  Apostle), 
21,  35,  37,  38,  47,  61,  62, 
63,  64,  65,  68. 

Ellen's  Falls,  306. 

Elliot  Pond,  145. 

Endicott,  John,  43. 

English,  1 8,  19,  24,  25,  26, 
27,  28,  29,  30,  32,  33,  35, 
36,  39,  40,  42,  43,  46,  53, 
54,  58,  62,  64,  67,  68,  69, 
7i,  73,  74,  77,  78,  79,  80, 
81,  82,  83,  84,  85,  86,  88, 
94,  96,  97,  ioo,  120,  123, 
124,  125,  127,  149,  203, 
223,  241. 

Epsom,  167. 


329 


Evangclinc,  Henry  W.  Long- 

fellow, 19. 
Exeter,  31,  205. 
Exeter,    Registry    of    Deeds, 


Falls,  The  Spirit  of  the,  189. 
Falmouth,  207,  208. 
Farewell  Speech,  of  Passacona- 

way,  20,  39,  40,  41,  69. 
Farmer,  John,   30. 
Farmer  and  Moore,  Gazetteer 

of  New  Hampshire,  247. 
Farmer   and    Moore,    Histor- 

ical Collections,  49,  51,  92, 

129. 

Farnham,  217. 
Fassett,    James    Hv    Colonial 

Life    in    New    Hampshire, 

127. 

Fay,  Charles  E.,  103,  173. 
Felt,  History  of  Salem,  58. 
Field,  Mount,  143. 
Fishing  Places,  20,  27. 
Files  in  Secretary's  Office,  N. 

H.,  80,  82. 
Fiske,      John,      Dutch      and 

Quaker  Colonies  in  Amer- 

ica, 69. 
Fiske,  John,  The  Discovery  of 

America,  16,  32. 
Fiske,  Reverend    (of  Chelms- 

ford),  75. 
Five  Nations,  u. 
Flagg,    Bureau    of    American 

Ethnology,     Handbook     of 

American   Indians,    12,    13, 

1  6,  60,  72,  96. 
Flat  Mt.,  1  80. 
Flume  Brook,  99. 


Force,  Historical  Tracts,  26. 

Forest  fires,  263,  264,  265, 
267,  268,  269. 

Forty  below  Zero  in  Passa- 
conaway-Land,  Chap.  XVI, 
pp.  301-322. 

Fox,  48,  129,  133,  200, 
288. 

Fox,  Charles  J.,  149. 

Fox  and  Osgood,  New  Hamp- 
shire Book,  149,  150,  205. 

Franconia  Mts.,  109,  142, 
1 66. 

Franklin,  Mount,  143. 

Free  Will  Baptist  Church, 
231. 

Freedom,  145. 

French,  67,  73,  80,  84,  85, 
94)  96,  97,  112,  120,  121, 
132,  133,  153,  203,  241, 
265,  268,  273,  281,  294, 
307. 

Frost,  144. 

Frye,  122,  123,  125. 

Fryeburg,  Me.,  122,  128,  144. 

Game     Warden,     285,     286, 

287. 
Gathered    Sketches    from    the 

Early      History      of     New 

Hampshire    and     Vermont, 

by  Francis  Chase,  121. 
Gazetteer,  New  England,  by 

John  Hayward,  230,  247. 
Gazetteer  of  New  Hampshire, 

by     Farmer     and     Moore, 

247. 
George,   215,   216,   221,   222, 

223,  224,  225,  226,  227. 
Giant's  Stairs,   143. 


330 


Index 


Oilman,   147,  215,  216,  271, 

272. 

Gline,   144. 

Goodalc,  Hon.  John  H.,  His- 
tory of  Nashua,  122. 
Gookin,  Daniel,  39,  45,  47,  65, 

66. 
Gookin,     Daniel,     Historical 

Collections   of   the   Indians 

of  New  England,  63. 
Governor's  Right,  210,  212. 
Graf  ton,  221. 
Granite  Monthly,  19,  21,  89, 

"9,  155- 
Granite  State  Magazine,   12, 

51,   75,  76,   115,   147,   156, 

272. 
Great  Spirit,  17,  21,  24,  147, 

148. 

Greeley's,  174. 
Green  Hills,  144. 
Green  Mt.,  144. 
Greene's    Cliff,    Mount,    142, 

169,    177,    193,    195,    198, 

264,  291. 
Guide    and    Trapper    of    the 

White  Mountains,  Chapter 

XV,  pp.  273-300. 
Guyot,   Prof.  Arnold,    169. 


Hale,   Mount,   143. 

Hale's  Location,  213. 

Half     Century     of     Conflict, 

Francis  Parkman,  121. 
Half-way  Bridge,  305. 
Half-way  House,  151,  305. 
Ham  Farm,  305,  320. 
Hamlet,     Wm.     Shakespeare, 

184. 


Hancock,  Mount,  142,  169, 
3H. 

Handbook  of  American  Indi- 
ans, Bureau  of  American 
Ethnology,  Flagg,  12,  13, 
1 6,  60,  72,  96. 

Haskell,  247. 

Hassell,  Benjamin,  124. 

Haverill,  96. 

Hawkins  (see  Kancama- 
gus). 

Hawkins,  Richard,  12. 

Hawthorne,  Captain,  70. 

Hayford,  216. 

Hayward,  John,  New  Eng- 
land Gazetteer,  230, 
247. 

Head,  216. 

Heard,  89,  92. 

Heart  of  the  White  Moun- 
tains, by  Samuel  Adams 
Drake,  132,  149. 

Heart  of  the  Wilderness, 
Julius  Ward,  168. 

Hedgehog,  Mount,  105,  179, 
182,  183,  193,  194,  248, 
253,  264,  291,  312. 

Henry,  172. 

Herons,  Blue,  198. 

Hiawatha,  Henry  W.  Long- 
fellow, 21. 

Highwaymen,  The  Capture 
of,  252,  253. 

Hill,  David  H.,  148. 

Hill,  Richard,  Farm,  235, 
263,  288,  289,  307- 

Hinchman,  Lieut.  Thomas, 
65,  67,  68,  86. 

Hinds,  Ambros,  216. 

Hiram,  144. 


fnde) 


331 


Historical  Collections  of  the 
Indians  of  New  England, 
Daniel  Gookin,  63. 

Historical  Collections,  Far- 
mer and  Moore,  49,  51,  92, 
129. 

Historical  Collections,  New 
Hampshire,  45,  12 1. 

Historical  Mem.,  A.  H. 
Quint,  89,  90. 

Historical  Tracts,  Force,  26. 

History  and  Description  of 
New  England,  Coolidge 
and  Mansfield,  33,  44,  99, 
126,  211,  216,  217,  247. 

History  of  Carroll  County, 
Georgia  Drew  Merrill, 
n,  12,  26,  100,  117,  120, 
121,  147,  148,  149,  210, 

211,     213,     214,    215,     2l6, 

219,  230,  232,  233,  234, 
238,  247,  248,  257,  271, 
272. 

History  of  Concord,  Nathan- 
iel Bouton,  27,  32,  51,  52, 

55,  58,  60,  76. 

History  of  Concord,  James  O. 
Lyford,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16, 
20,  21,  25,  32,  33,  34,  35, 
36,  37,  39,  43,  45,  46,  51, 

56,  61,  64,  65,  68,  69,  70, 
72,  73,  74,  76. 

History   of  Lynn,  Lewis,   54. 

History  of  Manchester,  John 
N.  McClintock,  125. 

History  of  Manchester, 
Chandler  E.  Potter,  12,  13, 
16,  17,  18,  19,  20,  21,  22, 
23,  24,  25,  26,  27,  29,  30, 
3i,  33,  34,  35,  37,  38,  40, 


41,  42,  43,  44,  52,  53,  54, 

58,  60,  61,  62,  63,  64,  65, 

66,  67,  68,  69,  70,  71,  72, 

73,  75,  77,  78,  80,  81,  82, 

83,  84,  85,  86,  89,  96,  98, 

IOO,     I2O,     121,     125,     126, 
127. 

History  of  Nashua,  Hon. 
John  H.  Goodale,  122. 

History  of  New  England, 
William  Hubbard,  u,  25, 
27,  54,  55,  58. 

History  of  New  Hampshire, 
Jeremy  Belknap,  12,  19,  25, 
27,  30,  31,  36,  41,  62,  73, 
78,  79,  80,  83,  84,  85,  86, 
89,  93,  97,  98,  204,  205, 

2O6,   2O7,   2IO. 

History  of  New  Hamp.,  John 

N.  McClintock,  125. 
History   of  Salem,  Joseph  B. 

Felt,  58. 
History  of  Warren,  William 

Little,  47. 

Hitchcock,  Charles  H.,  170. 
Hitchcock,  Mount,  157,  169, 

170. 
Hogkins    (Kancamagus),    77, 

80,  82. 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  One 

Hoss  Shay,  190. 
Hope,  Mount,  80,  100. 
Hope-Hood    (Wahwah),   84, 

85,  86,  95,  119- 
Home's  Camp,  172. 
How    the    Deer    Helped    to 

Harvest   Our   Crops,    261, 

262,  263. 
Howe,    Fred    B.,    264,    265, 

268. 


332 


Index 


Hubbard,    William,    History 

of  New   England ',    1 1,    25, 

27,  54,  55,  58. 
Hunt,  Arthur  P.,  246. 

pictures   by,   opp.   pp.    136, 

1 86. 
Hunt,  Una  A.  (Mrs.  Arthur 

P.),  246. 
Hunt,  Mr.  ,  picture  by, 

opp.  p.  290. 
Hunting,  217,  220,  273,  284, 

285. 
Huntington,  Joshua  H.,   135, 

170,  187,  316. 
Huntington,  Mount,  99,  169, 

170,   171. 
Hutchinson,  Anne,  31. 

Incidents  in  White  Mountain 
History,  Benjamin  G.  Wil- 
ley,  28,  122,  148,  211,  217, 
219,  220. 

Industrial  History  of  U.  S., 
K.  Coman,  205. 

Indians  of  North  America, 
S.  G.  Drake,  24,  32,  35,  36, 
37,  39,  55,  58,  59,  65,  68, 
69,  70,  72,  75,  78,  85,  89, 
91,  95,  96,  120. 

Ipswich,  33. 

Iron  Mt.,  143. 

Israel,  Mount,   142. 

Jackson,  Dr.  Charles  T.,  132. 
James,  George  B.,  235,  276. 
Janney,   Samuel   M.,  Life  of 

William  Penn,  21,  30,  46. 
Jefferson,  164. 
Jenkins,  Reynold,  32,  44. 


Jones,  Rufus,  Quakers  in 
American  Colonies,  90. 

Journal,  Governor  John  Win- 
throp,  •  54. 

Juliet's  Balcony,  187. 

Kancamagus,      n,      52,      74, 

Chap.  IV,  pp.  77-101. 
Kancamagus,  Mount,  99,  101, 

171,  172,  269. 
Kantantowit's  Field,  17. 
Kearsarge,   Mount,   122,   143, 

144,  146,  303. 
Kennett,  A.  C.,  241,  276,  288, 

294. 

Keyes,  Solomon,   127. 
Kezar,  144. 

Kidder,  Benjamin,   122. 
Kineo  Bay,  168. 
King,  36,  137,  203,  205,  208, 

210,  212. 

King,     Thomas     Starr,     The 

White  Hills,  49,  131,  148. 
King  Philip,   23,  28,  47,  55, 

59,  63,  68,  70,  loo. 
King    Philip's    War,    George 

M.  Bodge,  89. 
King  William's  War,  84. 
Kipling,  Rudyard,  The  Truce 

of  the  Bear,  219. 
Knight,  65,  66. 
Knowles,    David,     146,     151, 

153,  154,  155,  252. 
Knox,  221. 
Kulheag,  19. 

Lafayette,  Mount,  142. 
Lake  Country,  in. 
Lamb,    Charles,    Dissertation 
upon  Roast  Pig,  269. 


Index 


333 


Land  of  Lingering  Snow, 
Frank  Bolles,  115,  116. 

Langdon,    Mount,    143. 

Larcom,  Lucy,  75,  102,  115, 
119,  130,  180,  181. 

Lauder,  Harry,  316. 

Lawrence,  Samuel,  232. 

Legends  and  Folk-Lore,  New 
England,  Samuel  Adams 
Drake,  56,  130,  131,  149. 

Leverett,  Governor  Sir  John, 
65. 

Levett,  Christopher,  25. 

Lewis,  History  of  Lynn,  54. 

Liberty,  James,  146,  150,  151, 
152,  153- 

Life  and  Adventures  of  Miles 
Standish,  John  S.  C.  Ab- 
bott, 196. 

Life  of  William  Penn,  Sam- 
uel M.  Janney,  21,  30, 

.4 

Limington,  145. 

Lincoln,  163,   172,  233. 

Line,  John,  67,  68. 

Litchfield,  47. 

Little,    William,    History    of 

Warren,   47. 
Livermore,  99,  163,  213. 
London,  55. 
Long  Pond,  144. 
Longfellow,  Henry  W.,  Evan- 
geline,  19. 

Hiawatha,  21. 

Poems    of    New    England, 

130. 

Lorgin,   66. 
Loring,     George,     239,     240, 

241,   243,   307. 
Lovell,  144. 


Lovewcll,  Captain  John,  120, 
121,  123,  124,  125,  127, 
128,  144,  149. 

Lowell,  Mount,  142,  162,  163, 
164,  165. 

Lumbering,  226,  227,  232, 
233,  234,  235,  237,  241, 
247,  253,  257,  263,  265, 
266,  267,  276,  277,  278, 
306,  307,  313,  318. 

Lyford,  James  O.,  History  of 
Concord,  12,  13,  14,  15,  16, 
20,  21,  25,  32,  33,  34,  35, 
36,  37,  39,  43,  45,  46,  51, 
56,  61,  64,  65,  68,  69,  70, 
72,  73,  74,  76. 

Lyman,  Mt.,  144. 

Lynn  (see  Saugus),  29,  58. 

Lynn,  History  of,  Lewis,  54. 

Mad  River,  172. 

Madison,  no,  140,  145,  213, 

234- 

Madison,  Mount,  143. 
Magnolia,  Cotton  Mather,  24. 
Maguas   (see  Mohawks),   12, 

62,  73,  79- 
Maine,  13,  47,  48,  52,  70,  78, 

83,  84,  no,  131,  144,  155, 

276,  280,  281,  295. 
Maine  Woods,  Henry  David 

Thoreau,   17. 
Manatahqua,  53. 
Manchester   (Amoskeag),   13, 

20,  61. 
Manchester,    History    of,    by 

Chandler  E.  Potter,  12,  13, 

16,  17,  18,  19,  20,  21,  22, 

23,  24,  25,  26,  27,  29,  30, 

3i,  33,  34,  35,  37,  38,  40, 


334 


Index 


41,  42,  43,  44,  52,  53,  54, 

58,  60,  61,  62,  63,  64,  65, 

66,  67,  68,  69,  70,  71,  72, 

73,  75,  77,  78,  80,  81,  82, 

83,  84,  85,  86,  89,  96,  98, 

100,      120,     121,     125,     126, 

127. 

Manfred,  Lord  Byron,  49. 

Manitou,  17,  21. 

Mansfield,  Mount,  168. 

Maramasquand,  Job,  86. 

March,  Clement,  210. 

Marston  Hill,  270. 

Mason,  81,  82. 

Massachusetts,  13,  31,  52,  78, 
205,  237,  243. 

Massachusetts  Archives,  44, 
65. 

Massachusetts  Chronicles, 
Young,  55. 

Massachusetts  Government, 
34,  36,  62,  70,85,  120,  149, 
203. 

Massachusetts  Historical  So- 
ciety Collections,  24,  63. 

Massachusetts  Society  of  Co- 
lonial Dames,  75. 

Massasoit,  23,  63. 

Mast  Trade  and  Road,  104, 
116,  137,  190,  Chapter  XII, 
pp.  202-209,  249,  252,  253, 
256,  265,  299,  316. 

Mather,     Cotton,    Magnolia, 

24,  55- 

Matterhorn,  311. 

Mayflower,  24. 

Mayhew,  166,  238,  239. 

McClintock,  John  N.,  His- 
tory of  New  Hampshire, 
125. 


McCrille's  Farm,  180. 

Meed,  Benjamin,  216. 

Memoir  of  the  Life  of  Henry 
Ware,  Jr.,  John  Ware,  184. 

Merrill,  Georgia  Drew,  His- 
tory of  Carroll  County, 
II,  12,  26,  100,  117,  120, 
121,  147,  148,  149,  210, 
211,  213,  214,  215,  2l6, 
219,  230,  232,  233,  234, 
238,  247,  248,  257,  271, 
272. 

Merrimack,  15,  17,  20,  21, 
26,  31,  51,  57,  70,  80,  81, 
87,.  94. 

Merrimacks  (Indians),  18, 
36,  37,  44,  96,  97- 

Mesandowit,  84,  89. 

Metambomet,  84. 

Middle,  Mt.,  144. 

Minister's  Lot,  210,  212. 

Moat  Mt.,  no,  122,  143, 
144,  158,  159,  179,  183, 
303- 

Mohawk  Indians,  12,  13,  14, 
15,  16,  32,  36,  40,  61,  62, 
73,  79,  80,  83,  84,  85,  88. 

Mohawk  Valley,  245. 

Mohegans    (Indians),   37. 

Monadnock,  Mount,  1 1 1 . 

Monroe,  Mount,  143. 

Montowompate,  54,  55,  56, 
57,  58. 

Moore,  Paul  Elmer,  Shel- 
burne  Essays,  in. 

Moose,  19,  48,  50,  115,  200, 
228,  229,  269. 

Moose,  Upper  Pond,  144. 

Moosehead  Lake,  168. 

Mooselauke,  Mt.,  142,  170. 


Index 


335 


Morse,  226,  227,  237. 

Morton,  New  England  Ca- 
naan, 26,  27,  56,  58. 

Mosely,  Captain,  68. 

Moultonborough,   145. 

Muckamug,  Peter,  86. 

Musgrove,  Eugene  R.,  White 
Hills  in  Poetry,  148,  150, 
156,  181. 


Namaoskeag       ( Manchester  ) , 

20. 

Namaoskeag  (Indians),  13. 
Nanamocomuck,    52,    53,    60, 

61,  62,  77,  88. 
Nancy,  Mount,  142,  143,  162, 

163,  164,  165,   183. 
Nanepashemet,  54. 
Narragansett,  R.  I.,  79. 
Narragansetts  (Indians),  37. 
Nashua,    History     of,     Hon. 

John  H.  Goodale,  122. 
Nashuas  (Indians),  13. 
Natick,  65. 
Natticook,  40,  42,  43,  80,  81, 

196. 

Naumkeag  (Salem),  65. 
New  Castle,  80. 
New  England,  Border  Wars 

of,  Samuel  A.  Drake,  86, 

89. 

New  England  Canaan,  Mor- 
ton, 26,  27,  56,  58. 
New  England,  Economic  and 

Social  History  of,  William 

B.  Weeden,  116,  202,  203, 

204,  207,  208. 
New  England  Gazetteer,  John 

Hayward,  230,  247. 


New  England,  Historical  Col- 
lections of  the  Indians  of, 
Daniel  Gookin,  63. 

New  England,  History  and 
Description  of,  Coolidge 
and  Mansfield,  33,  44,  99, 
126,  211,  216,  217,  247. 

New  England,  History  of, 
William  Hubbard,  u,  25, 
27,  54,  55,  58. 

New  England  Legends  and 
Folk  Lore,  Samuel  Adams 
Drake,  56,  130,  131,  149. 

New  England,  Poems  of, 
Henry  W.  Longfellow,  1 30. 

New  England,  Poets',  Helen 
A.  Clarke,  56. 

New  England's  Prospect,  Wil- 
liam Wood,  26,  27. 

New  Hampshire,  13,  74,  77, 
98,  102,  119,  128,  131,  136, 
153,  156,  157,  167,  168, 

170,     202,     205,     207,     215, 

276. 

New  Hampshire  and  Ver- 
mont, Gathered  Sketches 
from  the  Early  History  of, 
Francis  Chase,  121. 

New  Hampshire  as  It  Is,  Ed- 
win A.  Charlton,  15,  29, 
31,  72,  80,  89,  121,  122, 
149,  211,  247. 

New  Hampshire  Book,  The, 
Fox  and  Osgood,  149,  150, 
205. 

New  Hampshire,  Colonial 
Life  in,  James  H.  Fassett, 
127. 

New  Hampshire,  Gazetteer 
of,  Farmer  and  Moore,  247. 


336 


Index 


New  Hampshire,  Government 
of,  83,  84,  85,  86,  120,  167, 
204,  216,  230,  233,  236, 
244,  315. 

New  Hampshire,  Guide  to, 
Rollins,  51,  151. 

New  Hampshire  Historical 
Collections,  45,  121. 

New  Hampshire,  History  of, 
Jeremy  Belknap,  12,  19, 
25,  27,  30,  31,  36,  41,  62, 
73,  83,  84,  89,  93,  97,  98, 

2O4,   2O5,   2O6,    2O7,   2IO. 

"  Farmer's  Edition,  78,  79, 
80,  83,  84,  85,  86. 

New  Hampshire,  History  of, 
John  N.  McClintock,  125. 

New  Hampshire,  Provincial 
Papers  of,  edited  by  Na- 
thaniel Bouton,  30,  31,  37. 
61,  62,  74,  89. 

New  Hampshire  State  Papers, 
86,  95,  96,  97- 

New  Hampshire,  Town  Pa- 
pers, 96,  97- 

New  York,  32,  138,  230,  232, 
246,  300. 

Newbury,  33,  86. 

Newburyport,  29. 

Newichewannocks    ( Indians ) , 

13- 

Niagara  Falls,  245. 
Niantics  (Indians),  37. 
Nickerson,  Joshua,  232. 
Noah,      A      New, — Wanted, 

255-258. 
Nobhow,  53. 
Nonatomenut,  52. 
Norcross  Pond,  163. 
North  Conway  Reporter,  275. 


North  Station,  Boston,  321. 
Northwest  Bay,  145. 
Numphow,  67,  68. 
Nutfield,   122. 

Old  Indian  Chronicles,  Sam- 
uel G.  Drake,  55. 

Olivarian  Brook,  241,  247. 

One  Hoss  Shay,  Oliver  Wen- 
dell Holmes,  190. 

Osceola,  22,  142,  172. 

Osgood,  James  R.,  White 
Mountains,  1 1,  13,  47,  48, 
83,  99,  102,  106,  115,  117, 
119,  131,  132,  138,  142, 
146,  149,  157,  158,  159, 
160,  161,  162,  164,  165, 
166,  167,  168,  169,  174, 
175,  i77,  i79,  1 80,  188, 
219,  230,232,247,272,307. 

Ossipee,  122,  124,  127,  145, 
247. 

Ossipees  (Indians),  148. 

Otis,  89,  92. 

Owl  Cliff,  160,  161,  293,  311. 

Page,  William,  215. 

Parker  Mt.,  143. 

Parkman,  Francis,  Half  Cen- 
tury of  Conflict,  121. 

Passaconaway,  Chapter  I,  pp. 
11-51,  52,  53,  56,  57,  59, 
60,  61,  65,  69,  72  77,  78, 
81,  85,  98,  loo,  in,  196, 
322. 

Passaconaway  Club-house,  51. 

Passaconaway  Cottage,   51. 

Passaconaway  House,  51,  103, 
154,  171,  177,  186,  200, 
202,  236,  242,  243,  244, 


Index 


337 


246,  251,  252,  253,  257, 
258,  263,  288,  291,  297, 
307,  317- 

Passaconaway   Inn,   51. 

Passaconaway  Intervale,  5 1 , 
99,  100,  170,  183,  187, 
Chapter  XIII,  pp.  210-247, 
256,  265,  266,  268,  299, 
300,  303,  305,  321,  322. 

Passaconaway,  Mount,  Chap. 
V,  pp.  102-114,  118,  119, 

129,  139,    142,    173,    179, 

1 80,  l82,  184,  194,  202, 
236,  249,  255,  264,  299, 
311. 

Passaconaway 's  Papooses,   52- 

59- 
Paugus,  ii,  84,  Chap.  VI,  pp. 

115-129. 

Paugus,  Camp,  242,  244. 
Paugus,     Mount,     102,     104, 

Chap.     VI,     pp.     115-129, 

130,  134,    135,    139,    142, 

l82,     202,     264,     269,     286, 

288,  291. 

Pawtucket,  20,  35,  39,  47, 
65. 

Pawtuckets    (Indians),    13. 

Payne,  Thomas,  45,  46. 

Peak  House,  146,  151,  153, 
154,  156,  252,  303,  321. 

Peavey,  247. 

Pegypscott,   80. 

Pemigewasset,  142,  163,  165, 
1 66,  169,  172. 

Penn,  William,  Life  of,  Sam- 
uel M.  Janney,  21,  30,  46. 

Pennacook  (Concord),  13,  16, 
25,  37,  38,  40,  42,  43,  44, 
49,  50,  51,  56,  57,  58,  60, 


61,  64,  68,  74,  79,  80,  81, 
82,  86,  87,  94,  96,  98. 

Pennacooks  (Indians),  n,  13, 
14,  15,  16,  17,  18,  19,  20, 
21,  22,  26,  29,  32,  34,  35, 
40,  41,  42,  47,  48,  50,  51, 
52,  53,  58,  62,  69,  70,  71, 
72,  73,  75,  78,  79,  80,  83, 
84,  85,  86,  96,  97,  98,  loo. 

Pennsylvania,   243. 

Pequawkets  (Indians),  13, 
120,  122,  123,  124,  125, 
127,  128,  129,  149. 

Pestilence,   12. 

Philip    (see  King  Philip). 

Philip's  War,  King,  George 
M.  Bodge,  89. 

Philip's  War,  Benjamin 
Church,  95,  96. 

Pike's  Peak,  113. 

Pilgrims,  12,  14,  24. 

Pine  Bend,  171. 

Pine  Bend  Camp,  258,  259, 
260,  261. 

Pinkham,  Notch,  143. 

Piper,  139. 

Piscataqua,  River,  31,  45,  88. 

Piscataquas  (Indians),  13,  88. 

Pitcher  Fall,   135,   136. 

Pleasant  Mt.,  143,  144,   155. 

Plymouth,  Mass.,  24,  25. 

Plymouth,  N.  H.,  146. 

Poems  of  New  England, 
Henry  W.  Longfellow,  130. 

Poets'  New  England,  Helen 
A.  Clarke,  56. 

Pokanoket  Swamp,  100. 

Portland,  no,  144,  155,  162, 
207,  215,  225,  227,  233, 
243,  245- 


338 


Index 


Portland  and  Ogdensburg 
Railroad,  162. 

Portland,  Great  Falls  and 
Conway  Railroad,  233. 

Portsmouth,  29,  164,  207, 
208,  215,  216,  321. 

Post,  Boston  Evening,  98. 

Potash,  Mount,  105,  142,  170, 
171,  177,  178,  179,  182, 
193,  194,  247,  291,  311. 

Potter,  Chandler  E.,  History 
of  Manchester,  12,  13,  1 6, 
17,  18,  19,  2O,  21,  22,  23, 
24,  25,  26,  27,  29,  30,  31, 
33,  34,  35,  37,  38,  40,  41, 
42,  43,  44,  52,  53,  54, 
58,  60,  61,  62,  63,  64, 
65,  66,  67,  68,  69,  70, 
7i,  72,  73,  75,  77,  78,  80, 
81,  82,  83,  84,  85,  86,  89, 

96,  98,    IOO,    I2O,   121,    125, 

126,    127. 

Potter  Farm,  303,  321. 
Povall,    236,    243,    244,    245, 

246,  256,  264,  266. 
Povall,  James  T.,  pictures  by, 

opp.    102,    116,    158,    170, 

188,  256,  306,  318. 
Powwow,   17,  24,  26,  27,  40, 

125. 

Pray,     Prof.    James    Sturgis, 

171,   172. 
Presidential  Range,   no,  159, 

183,  303. 

Princeton  University,  268. 
Proprietors,  21 1,  212,  215. 
Prospect,  Mount,  145,  146. 
Providence,  R.   I.,  246. 
Provincial     Papers     of     New 

Hampshire,   edited    by   Na- 


thaniel Bouton,  30,  31,  37, 
61,  62,  74,  89. 
Purington,  George,  247. 

Quakers,  90. 

Quakers  in  American  Colo- 
nies, Rufus  Jones,  90. 

Queen  Anne's  War,  97. 

Quimby,  General,  270,  272. 

Quint,  A.  H.(  Historical 
Mem.,  89,  90. 

Radeke,  Eliza  G.,  246. 

Railroads,  233,  234,  241,  253, 
306,  318. 

Red  Hill  Pond,  145. 
x  Resolution,  143. 
\Revelation,  Mount,   159. 
x  Revolution,     116,    202,    207, 
208,  215. 

Rhode  Island,  43,  246. 

Rhode  Island  School  of  De- 
sign, 246. 

Rhone  Valley,  113,  184. 

Richardson,  Lieut.  James,  65, 
66,  68. 

Rip  Van  Winkle,  297. 

Robbins,  66. 

Rocky  Branch,  264. 

Rogers  and  Rogers'  Rangers, 
98. 

Rollins,  Frank  West,  Tour- 
ists' Guide  Book  to  the 
State  of  New  Hampshire, 
51,  151,  221,  230,  247. 

Rowley,  33. 

Royal  Navy,  116,  202,  203, 
207. 

Rumney-Marsh,  George,  59. 

Rundlet,  Levi,  216. 

Russell,   223,   224,   225,   236, 


Index 


339 


237,  246,  247,  300. 
Russell  Manuscript,  The,  196, 
210,    211,    212,    214,    216, 

217,  2l8,  220,  221,  222, 

223,  224,  225,  226,  227, 

228,  229,  230,  231,  232, 
233- 

Sabbaday,      160,      171,      177, 

Chap.  X,  pp.  186-192,  220, 

221,  237,  257. 
Sackatehock,  96,  97. 
Saco,    18,   31,   53,    113,    122, 

143,    144,    157,    161,    165, 

215,  232,  233,  257- 
Sacos   (Indians),   13,  97. 
Sagamore  James,  54,  57,  58. 
Saint  Francis,  73,  74,  75,  96, 

97,  98,  128,  149. 
Saint  John  River,  277,  279. 
Salem,  56,  58,  65. 
Salem,  History  of,  Felt,  58. 
Sandwich,  no,  142,  145,  180, 

184,  212,  213,  270. 
Sandwich  Range,  75,  102,  109, 

117,  179  ,194,  208,  270. 
Sandwich  Dome,  142,  180. 
Saugus  (Lynn),  29,  53,  54, 

56,  58. 

Saugusaukes   (Indians),  13. 
Savage,  Hon.  James,  30. 
Sawyer,  Fred,  319. 
Sawyer's  Pond,  160. 
Sawyer's  River,   166. 
Sawyer's  Rock,  165. 
Schenectady,  34. 
Schoppe,   267. 
Score-o'- Peaks,  99,    in,  250, 

308. 
Sebago,  144. 


Sebec,  Me.,  275. 

Senter,  Joseph,  210. 

Sewall  (Concord),  16,  45. 

Shackford,  103,  112,  133,  160, 
166,  172,  186,  191,  208, 
221,  234,  235,  236,  237, 
240,  242,  243,  251. 

Shakespeare,  William,  Ham- 
let, 184- 

Sham  Fight,  71,  72,  79. 

Shapley,  Capt.  Reuben,  76. 

Shapley's  Wharf,  76. 

Shelburne  Essays,  Paul  Elmer 
Moore,  in. 

Siege  of  Wolves,  269-272. 

Signal  Ridge,  167. 

Silver  Lake,  145. 

Silver  Spring,  159. 

Sitting  Bull,  23. 

Smith,  190,  237,  240,  244, 
245,  256,  258,  259,  260, 
261. 

Smyth,  Governor,  21. 

Souhegan  River,  17. 

Spaniards,  202,  203. 

Spirit  of  the  Falls,  189. 

Spokane,  Wash.,  245. 

Spruce  Hill,  245,  305,  306, 
320. 

Squam  Lake,   in,  146. 

Squamscotts  (Indians),  13. 

Squando,  70. 

Square  Ledge,  104,  182,  202. 

Squidrayse,  54. 

Standish,  Miles,  Life  and  Ad- 
ventures of,  John  S.  C.  Ab- 
bott, 196. 

State  Papers,  New  Hampshire, 
86,  95,  96,  92. 

Stinson,  226. 


340 


Index 


Stoughton,  Lieutenant  Gover- 
nor of  Province  of  Massa- 
chusetts Bay,  120. 

Strange  Indians,  71,  79,  85. 

Strawberry  Bank  (see  Ports- 
mouth). 

Stuarts,  147. 

Sugar  Ball  Hill  (Concord), 
14. 

Sugar  Hill,  170,  171,  193, 
195- 

Susquehannah  Indians,  38. 

Sweetser,  Moses  F.,  99,  131, 
164,  307. 

Swift  River,  51,  99,  104,  105, 
138,  142,  143,  144,  157, 
161,  171,  172,  186,  195, 
208,  210,  229,  232,  233, 
234,  237,  239,  241,  256, 
257,  258,  259,  303,  305, 
306. 

Switzerland,  113,  162,  184. 

Syll,  Captain,  70. 

Table  Mt.,  143,  159. 
^  Tahanto,  23,  45. 

Talmage,  T.  De  Witt,  296. 

N  Tamworth,    145,     147,    212, 

213,  216,  247,  269,  270. 

Task,  The,  Cowper,  179. 
>Tecumseh,  Mount,  142. 

Thayer,  Stephen  Henry,   181. 

Thoreau,        Henry        David, 

Maine  Woods,  17. 
s  Thorn   Mt.,    143. 
^Tibado,  242,  243,  246,  247. 

Tinker,  John,  53,  61. 
x  Totem,  22. 

Tourists'  Guide  Book  to  the 
State  of  New  Hampshire, 


Frank    West    Rollins,    51, 

151,  22-1,  230,  247. 
Town  Charters,  New  Hamp- 
shire, 96,  97. 

Transcript,  Boston,   153,  272. 
Tremont,    Mount,    142,    143, 

160,    161,    165,    177,    236, 

264,  311. 
Tripyramid,  Mount,  99,  109, 

142,    173,    174,    176,    179, 

180,  194,  291. 
Truce   of  the  Bear,   Rudyard 

Kipling,  219. 
"Two  Brothers,"  97. 
Tyng,  Colonel  Jonathan,  60, 

73,  74,  75- 
Tyng,  J.  Warren,    147,   155, 

156. 
Tyngsboro,  75. 

^  Unanunguoset,  52. 
^Uncanoonucs,  1 1 1 . 
y  Uncas,  37. 
United  States,  116,  208,  215, 

234,  235,  238,  243. 
United    States    Coast   Survey, 

180. 

United  States  Geological  Sur- 
vey, 246. 

United  States  Geological  Sur- 
vey, Crawford  Notch  Sheet, 
159,  161,  165,  169,  170, 
213- 

Vermont,  233. 
Vose,  165,  1 66. 
Vose's  Spur,  166,  167. 

*Wachusett,  Mount,  52,  60, 
78,  in. 


Index 


341 


Wachusetts  (Indians),  13,  52, 
60,  77. 

Wahowah  (Wahwah  or  Hope- 
hood),  84,  85,  119, 

Wahwah  Hills,  119. 

Wakefield,  121. 

Waldron,  Richard,  45,  46,  70, 
71,  86,  89,  90,  91,  92,  93, 
100. 

Walker's  Pond,  140,  144. 

Wamesit  (Tewksbury),  62, 
63,  64,  65,  68,  74- 

Wamesits  (Indians),  13,  65, 
66,  67,  69. 

Wannalancit,  see  Wonalan- 
cet. 

Wanted — A  New  Noah,  255- 
258. 

Ward,  Julius,  White  Moun- 
tains, 140,  169. 

Ware,  Henry,  Jr.,  Memoir  of 
the  Life  of,  John  Ware, 
184. 

Ware,  John,  Memoir  of  the 
Life  of  Henry  Ware,  Jr., 
184-  ' 

Warren,  History  of,  William 
Little,  47. 

Washington,  Mount,  49,  50, 
131,  143,  158,  168,  170, 
183,  239,  316,  321. 

Washington,  Mount,  in  Win- 
ter, J.  H.  Huntington,  170, 
3i6. 

Waterville,  171,  173,  174, 
*75,  J76,  213,  220,  221, 
226,  232,  233. 

Watson,  photo,  by,  Frontis- 
piece. 

Watts,  55. 


Weare,  Meshach,  20. 

Webster,  Mount,  143. 

Weed,  215,  216,  221. 

Weeden,  William  B.,  Eco- 
nomic and  Social  History 
of  New  England,  116,  2O2, 
203,  204,  207,  208. 

Weeks,  216,  221,  239. 

Weetamoo,  55,  58. 

Wells  Garrison,  96. 

Wentworth,  Governor  Ben- 
ning,  210. 

Wentworth,  William,  92. 

Wemmchus,  53,  54,  55,  56, 
57,  58,  59- 

Westbrook,  Colonel,  207. 

Wheeler,  Mary  H.,  86,  89. 

Wheelwright  Deed,  30,  31. 

Wheelwright,  John,  31. 

Whipple,  Colonel,  164,  165. 

White  Brook,  241. 

White  Hills,  East  of,  M.  E. 
Eastman,  146,  148. 

White  Hills,  Thomas  Starr 
King,  49,  148. 

White  Hills  in  Poetry,  The, 
Eugene  R.  Musgrove,  148, 
150,  156,  181. 

White  Mountain  History,  In- 
cidents in,  Benjamin  G. 
Willey,  28,  122,  148,  211, 
217,  219,  220. 

White  Mountain  Notch,  143. 

White  Mountains,  113,  118, 
140,  141,  151,  165,  166, 
167,  1 68,  240,  246,  247, 
322. 

White  Mountains,  A  Bibliog- 
raphy of  the,  Allen  H. 
Bent,  148. 


342 


Index 


White  Mountains,  Guide  and 
Trapper  of,  Chapter  XV, 
pp.  273-300. 

White  Mountains,  Heart  of 
the,  Samuel  Adams  Drake, 
132,  149- 

White  Mountains,  James  R. 
Osgood,  ii,  13,  47,  48,  83, 
99,  102,  106,  115,  117,  119, 
131,  132,  138,  146,  149, 
157.  158,  159,  160,  161, 
162,  164,  165,  166,  167, 
168,  169,  174,  175,  177, 
179,  180,  188,  219,  230, 
232,  247,  272,  307. 

White  Mountains,  Julius 
Ward,  140,  169. 

White  Pond,  145. 

Whiteface,  Mount,  105,  108, 
142,  179,  180,  181. 

Whiting,  123. 

Whittier,      John      Greenleaf, 

147,  155- 
Whittier,    Among    the    Hills, 

132. 
Whittier,  The  Bridal  of  Pen- 

nacook,  55,  56,  57. 
Whittier  Peak,   145. 
Whitton  Pond,  145. 
Why   the   Chowder    Did   not 

Come  to  a  Boil,  260,  261. 
Wickasaukee,  73. 
Wiers,  The,  20. 
Wild-cat,  19,  48,  50,  106,  109, 

137,    183,    199,    200,    253, 

254,  255. 

Willard,  Captain,  37. 
Willard,  Mount,  143. 
Willey,    Benjamin    G.,    Inci- 
dents  in    White   Mountain 


History,  28,   122,   148,  21 1, 

217,  219,   220. 
Willey,   Mount,   143. 
William,  King,  84. 
Winnecowetts    (Indians),    13. 
Winnepesaukee,    18,    20,    49, 

50,  in,  145,  175- 
Winnepesaukes  (Indians),  13. 
Winnepurkitt,  54,  55,  58,  59, 

72. 
Winter  Evening,  The,  50,  91, 

92. 

Winthrop,  Governor  John,  54. 
Winthrop's  Journal,  by  Gov- 
ernor John  Winthrop,  54. 
Woburn,  65,  186. 
Wolf  borough,   145. 
Wolves,    48,    50,     129,    220, 

231,    269,    270,    271,    272, 

279,  280. 
Wolves,   The   Siege   of,    269, 

270,  271,  272. 
Wonalancet,    11,   29,   34,   35, 

47,  52,  53,  59,  60,  Chap. 

Ill,  pp.  60-76,  77,  78,  86, 

100. 

Wonalancet,  Mount  and  Vil- 
lage, 102,  104,  105,  112, 
117,  119,  129,  142,  182, 
202. 

Wonalancet  Out-of-Door 

Club,  209. 

Wonohaquaham,  55. 

Wood,  William,  New  Eng- 
land's Prospect,  26,  27. 

Woods,  Sergeant,   122. 

Woodstock,  172,  269. 

Worcester,  245. 

Worombo,  95,  96. 

Wyman,  Ensign,  124,  125. 


Index  343 

Yellowstone  Park,  245.  Young,  Alexander,  Massachu- 

Yorlc  Cliffs,  Me.,  51.  setts  Chronicles,  55. 

Young,  Mt.,  142.  Youth's  Companion,  76. 


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